


Body of Work

by megankent



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF, Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:17:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 36,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megankent/pseuds/megankent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to the following friends for invaluable assistance: Maygra, Charlotte, Killa, Ellie, Sandy, Rache, and Auk. Originally posted 3/15/03.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Head

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the following friends for invaluable assistance: Maygra, Charlotte, Killa, Ellie, Sandy, Rache, and Auk. Originally posted 3/15/03.

Vin felt the warm gaze like a hand gliding up the back of his neck, even across the noisy bar. Looking up, he met Chris's shining eyes and read a combination of enthusiasm, exhaustion, and drunken pleasure there. A little concern, too, that Vin was so quiet tonight. He smiled back, nodding easily: he was fine. Larabee narrowed his gaze, as if to look deeper, and Vin just shook his head. He saw Chris take a step closer, but Josiah laid a hand on his shoulder, turning Chris back toward the pool table and their challenge match. 

Teams Five and Seven were winding down at Inez's after a busy day. Well, "busy" didn't really do justice to the end of a three-agency operation, a 100-agent bust with many shots fired, and five or six hours of debriefing and summary reports. But it was what it was, and they felt justified in letting things rip a bit. Of course, that had been three or four hours ago, and "ripped" took on a new meaning as the evening rolled on and the empties piled up. Inez had delivered plates full of nachos and other munchables in an unending stream, and they'd disappeared as steadily as the alcohol, so the drunken crowd was still conscious, even if common sense had left the building long ago.

Vin leaned back in his chair, balancing carefully against the back wall, and noted absently that it took a bit more attention that usual. He was just off a ten-day course of antibiotics and the mandatory sobriety that went with it. It really had been a trivial knife wound and, given a choice, Vin would have let it heal on its own, but Chris and the doctor had been insistent. They might not give him much credit, but he could damn well take care of himself. For instance tonight, when his third drink set the room to rocking, Vin had switched to beer, which he'd been nursing carefully ever since. But unless he was mistaken, he was the only one. Chris damn well wasn't getting behind the wheel tonight, and Vin planned to see him sprawled naked across the dark blue bedspread out at the ranch, rather than sharing his own saggy mattress or the fold-out couch at the CDC. So he was measuring his intake carefully and enjoying the show.

He missed how it started, but once the voices rose above a certain level, it was clear trouble was coming. When he craned his head, Vin wasn't much surprised to find JD and Melissa butting heads. Those two just seemed to rub each other the wrong way. If he hadn't known that JD was gone on Casey like he was gone on Chris, and been pretty sure he'd seen Melissa cruising the secretarial pool like it was her own private stock ranch, he'd have thought they were flirting. Hell, maybe they were in some weird sort of way. 

He couldn't quite follow what was going on, but damn if it didn't sound like "my dad could beat up your dad" coming about twenty years too late. JD argued statistics: total closed cases, and the fact that they'd brought in more tonnage and dollar value of contraband than any other SOG in the Bureau. Melissa's reply was just low enough that he missed it, and Vin tipped his chair upright and wandered over, curious to see what would develop. He wasn't the only one. A little ring was forming around the "kids," everyone offering suggestions and fanning the flames. 

He never did figure out what she'd said, but it must have been enough, 'cause JD wasn't usually the one to throw the first punch. Melissa, even in her impaired state, managed to duck the blow easily. Hell, Nettie Wells probably could have ducked that blow, with the amount of lead-time and telegraphing that JD offered. Melissa's return shot was quicker, and a little more subtle. JD staggered back and raised his hand to his bloody nose.

Vin saw a long arm reach for JD, ready to draw him away from what was sure to be a painful experience. He thought it looked like Buck's but couldn't be sure through the intervening bodies. JD ducked it instinctively, and dove in, driving Melis back against the video game console. She grunted at the impact, and again when JD wrapped his arms around her middle and squeezed. JD grinned his success just a little too soon. She stomped on his instep, and when he loosened his grip in reaction, spun him and twisted his arm up into the middle of his back. The kid had to cry uncle, or she was gonna snap his wrist. Vin stepped forward to break things up, but Chris beat him to it, freeing JD, almost tossing him to Buck for safekeeping. He spun Melissa around to face him and shook her pretty sharply, until she met his eyes. 

"Can it, Roche," he ordered. "Save it for the bad guys." Chris scanned the crowd, clearly looking to hand her off to Rob Evans, the leader of Team Five. But she wasn't having any, and dropped, sweeping her leg in a big circle, neatly trapping Chris and taking him down. Melissa sprang up amid catcalls and encouragement, and looked ready to take on all comers. Her eyes shone with unexpended adrenaline, a feeling Vin knew far too well. But they really didn't need to break up Inez's place, particularly when they were all three sheets to the wind. Someone might really get hurt. But now there were other hands, friendly hands, holding Melissa back, and she was running her mouth instead. Oh, and what a mouth that girl had on her.

"I've got more cojones than that little prick. Or Chris-fucking-Larabee." It was funny, really. With her cropped haircut and a body by the US Marines, she did look the part of a rough, tough government agent a lot more than JD, or even Vin did. Mind you, he'd seen her once, off duty and in a skirt of all things, and almost hadn't recognized her. 

Her team backed her, which was only right, if a little stupid under the circumstances. Someone else--he thought it might be Almonte--took up the call for Chris to stand his ground against their "little girl." Right. And if anyone outside her team had ever called her that, the heckler would leave some body parts behind on the bar room floor. JD lunged forward against Buck's hold, ready to defend Chris's honor, and Buck just laughed and held him tighter. 

"G'wan, Chris," Buck taunted. "Show 'em what you're made of!" 

"Nah," he replied. "Don't wanna fight her, don't want her big brothers on my ass for the next month." Chris scanned the crowd, his eyes sparking dangerously, finally fixing his gaze sharply to Vin's left. He was challenging Evans, leader to leader, for the honor of their teams. Shit, Chris, Vin thought, why don't you just call him out? 

"Okay, Larabee," Evans took up the gauntlet. "You and me. For tonight's bar tab, eh?" Oh ho, that wasn't a trivial bet tonight. But Chris didn't back down, only nodded sharply, his eyes glittering in anticipation. 

"How do you want it, Evans?" The crowd drew back to reveal Chris, his wrinkled black shirt hanging loose outside his jeans this late in the day, and Evans, still looking pretty neat and coiffed. "Pool? Darts? Arm wrestling?" Vin saw Rob's eyes narrow at the last. He was a big man, and a good five years younger than Chris, probably figured he'd take him without much effort. He'd be wrong.

They cleared the chairs away from one table and Ezra started collecting side bets. Even odds. Vin took fifty on Chris, and figured they'd have dinner out on the winnings. It wasn't that Chris was the strongest; it was just that he didn't know the meaning of the word surrender. Vin figured his money was safe. 

Both teams gathered around, offering advice and catcalls even as Rob and Chris settled in to their grips. "Inez, honey," Buck called to her across the room. "Can you do us a favor?" She came over, deftly avoided the arm he tried to wrap around her, and turned an inquiring eye to Chris. 

"What have you gotten yourself into, Señor Larabee? Señor Evans?"

"Just a friendly contest, Inez. To find out whose money you'll be depositing tonight." Chris nodded at Standish. "Ezra's taking bets, if you're interested." She shook her head in amusement. 

"And why do you need my help with this foolishness?" 

"Just count it down, honey," Buck offered. "Three, two, one, go. Will you do that for us?" Wilmington never gave up either. He just applied that persistence in different arenas. But it would take a damn sight more doggedness than a dozen Larabees for Buck to make time with Ms. Recillos. 

She turned away from him, effortlessly gathering the rest of the crowd with her eyes. "Are you ready?" She waited for a nod from both Chris and Rob, and raised an arm. "Okay, then. Three. Two. One. GO!" She dropped the arm, and it was on. The shouting, cheering and jeering, quickly rose to deafening levels, as Evans went for the quick kill. He managed to push Chris's arm to about ten o'clock, grunting and straining. Chris, breathing deeply, glowering as if he could burn a hole through Evans with his eyes alone, to arrested the momentum, and fought them back to vertical. The crowd noise rose into an even wilder roar. 

Someone pressed another beer bottle into Vin's hand and he sipped it absently, unwilling to take his eyes from the spectacle before him, even to acknowledge the giver. Chris was straining now; Vin could see it in the frown line between his brows, and the sweat that was just beading on his forehead. But he wasn't breathing hard yet, and he maintained a steady pressure in the face of Rob's efforts. Yeah, this was an endurance match. 

"Three minutes!" Ezra called the time. Definitely longer than most people held out against Chris or Rob. They were well matched. But unless he was mistaken, Rob was starting to pay for his burst of power at the start. His muscles quivered, while Chris seemed to channel rock steadiness. Slowly, oh so slowly, he tilted their straining hands over. A few anticipatory groans started to flavor the cacophony, and he heard JD crowing madly. The muscles in Chris's neck were hard and straining, and Vin imagined his arm bursting through his shirt like the Incredible Hulk. But Chris wasn't built that way; he was more long and lean. Built for distance, he always said, not speed. Whatever. It worked for Vin, in more ways than one. And while it might be sacrilegious on the guy-scale to eye your lover in the middle of a crowd of cheering onlookers, Vin found himself appreciating all the ways that Chris fought like he fucked: quick and deadly, or slow and steady depending on the situation.

He saw Evans' mouth moving--couldn't hear a word, of course--but imagined him talking trash, trying to incite Chris into an unwise effort to regain some of his lost advantage. But Chris was relentless, and as he pushed their hands over toward the flat of the table, the groans got louder. Sweat ran into Evans' eyes, and he blinked it away, still trying to wrench their joined wrists upright. He wasn't making any headway, though, and just as Ezra yelled, "Five minutes!" Chris drove the back of Rob's hand into the table top, and then sat back, lolling in the chair, releasing his grip and dropping his arm to hang at his side. Evans took it well, smiled across at Chris, and handed his credit card to Inez. 

Buck dragged Chris up into an exuberant hug, ruffling his sweat-damp hair until it stood up in spikes. Chris just grinned up at him, and then met Vin's eyes across the room, smiling a little wider, a little softer. Then JD was there, shaking Chris's tired arm, and Ezra settled bets left and right. Vin collected his winnings, then wandered over to Chris, still standing under Buck's arm but chatting easily now with Evans and a couple other guys from Team Five.

"...give me a rematch, Larabee."

"Right now?" Chris sounded surprised, and not too eager. 

"Nah, how about tomorrow, lunch time. One-on-one hoops, on the roof. You man enough, old man?" It was a joke, and still enough of a dig to get Chris's back up. Vin saw him straighten, and then consciously relax again.

"What stakes?" He sounded wary, and rightly so; Evans was known for his wicked sense of humor.

"Don't you trust me?" Evans goaded.

Now Buck was the one straightening up, challenging on Chris's behalf. "Not hardly," he put in. "What do you have in mind?"

"Not your bet, Buck," Chris warned.

Evans was laughing at Chris now, and at Buck's caution, and that was all it took to push Chris over the edge. "You're on. Twelve o'clock. I get to name the stakes."

Evans nodded agreement. It wouldn't be pretty, any way you looked at it. Chris made much of thinking on it, and then grinned. Evans should have had the sense to back out then. "When I beat you," and it was clear there was no "if" in Chris's universe, "you'll wear the mark of my choosing for a month." 

"Fuck you!" Evans protested, and Buck's laughter riled Evans as quick as it would any other man.

"Hey, if you're that scared of losin'--" Vin grinned. It really was amazing that Buck and Chris had survived their youth. Each was worse than the other; put them together, add alcohol and an opportunity for a fight, and they were ten times as bad.

Chris was still staring at Evans, challenging. "I guarantee, nothing too painful, nothing that will get you fired, and nothing that will impede your job performance." That left a fair amount of room to maneuver, and Vin wondered just what evil Chris had planned for Evans. But the man was game, and shook Chris's hand, sealing the bet. Sucker. 

The party wound down after that, many cabs were called, and JD and Buck hoofed it home. Vin felt like a soccer mom, dropping Ezra, Josiah and Nathan off before starting the long drive to the ranch. Well before he pulled into the gravel drive, the adrenaline had worn off and the tequila kicked in; Chris snored softly on his shoulder. He roused enough for Vin to steer him into the house, and collapsed across that bedspread in not quite the same sprawl Vin had fantasized earlier. 

Chris roused enough to accept the bottle of water that Vin gave him, and even managed to guzzle a fair amount before dropping back to lie, apparently boneless, on top of the covers and fully dressed. "Damn, Larabee," Vin muttered, "can't make things easy on me, can you?" Still on the edge of consciousness, Chris was malleable enough for Vin to work him out of his clothing and under the covers.  "'Night, cowboy," he whispered. Chris didn't answer, but he did snuggle in close, gusting an alcohol-laden breath into Vin's throat. Vin chuckled, and wrapped an arm around him before dropping off to sleep.

***

They didn't get up to anything in the morning because Vin had forgotten the alarm, and when he did wake up, it was to the sound of Chris retching in the bathroom. He hadn't even closed the door for chrissake. Poor guy. But he wasn't that far gone, and they showered and made it out the door only a half an hour late. Vin drove again, while Chris scrunched down in the corner and winced behind his dark glasses. 

The bullpen was subdued as they walked in. A quick survey revealed bleary eyes all round, and Vin enjoyed a moment of smug superiority. Chris went silently for the black coffee, and then equally silently to his office, where he closed the door with extraordinary gentleness. Poor guy. 

There was plenty of work to do: filling the holes in the reports from the bust yesterday, reviewing narratives from forensics, following up and cross-referencing. All the scut work that it took to support those ninety minutes of chaotic action. And it wasn't made any easier by the dearth of mental acuity in the room. Or by the intermittent stream of visitors wandering through, wanting accounts of last night's festivities, and casting curious glances at the blind-shrouded glass enclosure Larabee called an office. A few stepped up to Ezra's desk for a quick transaction, but more just seemed to be curious looky-loos. 

Vin knew they had to have seen a hangover before, so there had to be something else going on... Maybe Team Five was spreading dirt about Chris. Well, they'd be sorry.

Eleven o'clock rolled around, and Chris had only appeared twice, both times to silently replenish his coffee and return to his cave. Ezra was starting to look a little concerned about the action he'd taken. At eleven thirty, the team gathered at Chris's door, silently daring each other to be the one to knock.

They didn't have to, 'cause Chris swept the door open suddenly and strode out, looking more like his usual, pissed-off self. Good, Vin thought, that would be useful in the coming contest. Chris didn't say anything, and they just trailed along behind him to the locker room downstairs, where he changed into skimpy running shorts that Vin couldn't help but approve of, a faded grey ATF t-shirt under an equally faded zip-up sweat shirt, and sneakers. He looked up, scanning the silent semi-circle, and his gaze burned into each of them, finally settling on Vin, firing him up in a way that far predated any other facet of their relationship. Chris gathered the team, their energy... And they could not refuse. Their quiet and lethargy slid away, and they sparked off each other. Buck and JD's chatter picked up as though it had never faltered, Ezra's cynical asides slid in but didn't to bite too hard. Josiah smiled widely, and Nathan returned it. Vin leaned casually against a cement pillar, and shared a silent grin with Chris, then jerked his head toward the exit.

So it was a very different Team Seven that followed their leader back to the elevators, and a different energy pulsing on the long ride up to the roof. The few times the elevator stopped for more passengers, JD waved them off, and they continued the journey in their own noisy, comfortable company. The elevator didn't go all the way up, so they had to exit on sixteen, and walk the last flight to the roof. 

It was wide and flat, and had been divided some time in the past. Half was striped for a heliport, though it was rarely used, and the other half fenced with chain-link, enclosing a three-quarter size basketball court, and a set of ratty aluminum bleachers that looked like rejects from a high-school. But they were mostly full now, with a fair representation of other teams, waiting to see who'd come out on top, and a delegation of support staff, out for a bit of lunch-hour entertainment. Team Five was already there, and Evans was practicing free-throws to the heckling of the audience.

As he stripped off his sweatshirt and leaned over to begin a series of stretches, Chris got a few catcalls himself, not least from Susie down in HR, who'd been less than discreet in her appreciation of Chris's assets at the Christmas party last year. But Larabee was in the zone now; he could have been alone for all the reaction he showed. Vin saw a tiny flinch and squint though, as the sun stabbed into his blue-green and bloodshot eyes. Vin silently offered his shades. They were Oakley wrap-arounds, the ones Vin wore for work, and they would cut the glare without impeding his vision. Chris accepted them with a tiny grin, and tightened down the neck-leash, so they wouldn't go flying if he did.

Chris finally strode on to the court at a couple of minutes before noon, and accepted the ball from Evans to practice a few jump shots and lay-ups. He moved smoothly, no sign of his earlier misery. Buck let out a roar when Chris sank a thirty-footer, turning to smile at the arrayed members of Team Five across the court. They looked pretty secure, though, and Vin wondered just how good Evans was. 

Pretty good, apparently. Chris offered Evans the first out, and he accepted. He checked the ball, tossing it over and accepting it back from Chris, then immediately went up for a jump shot, starting things off fast. The shot was all net, and the score 2-0. Jerry Stevens of Team Five led a mini-wave across the bleachers. Chris took the ball out past the top of the key, and checked it. Evans' pass had barely touched Chris's fingers before he was dribbling, driving, and with a feint right, passing Evans and sinking a sweet up-and-under layup, 2-2. 

Things slowed a bit after that, both men putting a little more attention on defense. Chris rejected one of Rob's lay-ups so powerfully that the ball bounced hard against the chain-link. Rob blocked a couple of Chris's jumpers, and then tried a dunk and failed spectacularly. But the score continued to edge up, pretty evenly, and the crowd kept yelling as both Chris and Rob started to sweat and pant. 

Already ahead 16-14, Rob set his shoulder into Chris, knocking him to the asphalt as he drove to the rim. He sank the lay-up for a four-point lead amid cries of "foul" from Buck, JD, and no few members of the audience. Vin and Nate were already three steps onto the court, but Chris shook his head, turning them back. Rising slowly, he took time for a drink of water before accepting the ball, then sank a long jumper before Evans had even settled on his feet. 18-16.

Evans started an easy dribble, and then drove in, but Chris was already there, blocking his path to the hoop. He turned, backing in closer, using his larger body to protect the ball. Chris tried reaching in a couple of times, but couldn't deflect the dribble. They were pressed tightly together, each one trying to judge the other's balance and intentions, when Evans faded back and threw up a hook shot. Chris had no access to block it, but it didn't matter, it was off line to the right. And then, damn if it didn't bounce around on the rim, and finally drop in bringing the score to 20-16, and game point.

Sweat ran down Chris's face now; he pushed Vin's glasses up to his forehead and wiped at it with his discarded sweatshirt. He tossed the shirt aside, and accepted the ball again, pausing for a moment, eyeing Evans steadily before settling into a slow, high dribble. Evans said something softly that Vin couldn't quite pick up, and Chris answered him, equally softly. They stood there, measuring for a moment, Chris just continuing his dribble. And then he just bent his knees and rose for the jump shot. And it dropped in. A three-pointer, no less. 20-19. It was a one-basket game for either one of them, but now Evans had the ball. 

Chris fought long and hard. He rejected Evans' shots not once but twice, but Rob scrambled and recovered the ball both times. The crowd was yelling, on their feet stamping and clapping wildly. Finally Rob feinted, and wrong-footed Chris, so that he couldn't shift his weight back quickly enough to recover. It gave Evans a tiny window to the basket, and he rose, sinking the six-foot jump shot to end the game. 

Team Five went wild, jumping all over each other and hugging wildly. The crowd was no less frenzied. But the two men at the center of the attention were calm, shaking hands respectfully. Sharing a few words. Vin saw Chris stiffen, and ached to know what Evans had managed to say to shock him so. Chris walked over silently, and Buck dropped a towel around his shoulders, rubbing him down a bit. JD looked disappointed, but tried to hide it. And Ezra just looked annoyed. Perhaps he'd let team loyalty override his normal caution for once, and paid the price. 

***

The "soft listening" version of a Springsteen classic gave way to the BeeGees, and later to "Angel in the Morning," and Vin wondered whether any of the hypnotized medical office denizens would notice if he blew a 9 mm hole in the Muzak speaker. He stared angrily at the other captives in the waiting room, who were seemingly content to read magazines or stare absently into space without squirming in the hard plastic chairs. Forty-five minutes he'd been waiting, for a damn worthless appointment anyway, for a knife wound that was barely even visible. Hell, he'd already been okayed for active duty. 

But Chris had pulled rank, and here he sat, shifting his aching ass, wondering what Evans was inflicting on Chris, and unraveling the loose threads at the cuff of his flannel shirt. He really ought to stop; it was one of his favorites, and the idea of it falling to shreds pissed him off. The idea of Evans getting one over on Chris pissed him off, too. If it ended badly, he might just have to get some of his own back on Mr. Evans, team leader or not.

Vin looked at his watch one more time. He'd give the doctor until one hour late, and then he was leaving, orders or no orders. Of course, just as he stood up to go, the kind, elderly nurse called him back into the examining room, where he got to strip off his shirts, and wait again. He imagined what Evans might do within the confines of the bet. Vin was pretty sure what Chris had planned for Rob; he'd mentioned more than once wanting to crop the man's unruly curls. Rob had a redhead's temper, and Vin had to smile at the idea of the man with an Army regulation crew cut. Now if Evans' mind ran the same way... Vin tried to imagine the shape of Larabee's face without the lock of dark blond hair that was regularly in his eyes. Without the thick fall to sink his hands into. He might have to kick some ass there. On the other hand, there was a real turn-on to the smooth feel of close-cropped or shaved hair. Vin smiled at the idea, and felt his body respond, and sure enough, that was when the doctor walked in.

The checkup was trivial, of course. He'd known he was all healed up, and she just confirmed it. But he made her promise to leave the results on Chris's voice-mail, so the man would damn-well stop nagging him about it.  Vin thanked her, and dressed again before heading back to the office.

It might have been midnight instead of three in the afternoon, their office was so deserted. Vin cleared his voicemail and e-mail, decided to take advantage of Ezra's absence to prop his feet, and lounged back in his chair to review the rest of the forensic reports. He was just wrapping up when he heard the elevator ping, and the shuffle of feet that indicated an oddly-quiet Team Seven returning. He dropped his chair back level, and stood up to see everyone following an obviously furious Larabee in the office. Vin assessed him quickly, but couldn't see any reason for the dark cloud he was trailing--or any result from the bet. Chris didn't even look his way, just stomped into his office and closed the door hard enough to send the blinds shivering.

Once Chris was safely out of sight though, wide grins and soft laughter broke out. JD was clearly bursting to talk, but too wary of Chris's temper to jump right in. Buck reached out and grabbed Vin's shoulder, pushing toward the break room. They all piled in, but left the door open to keep a weather eye on Chris's door. 

Vin didn't have to ask, just pointed a questioning gaze, and Buck couldn't hold it in any more.

"Oh, man, Junior! You should have seen it! It was incredible." A huge grin split his face, and though Vin didn't have any idea what "it" was, it had obviously been a spectacle at Larabee's expense. 

"We went to the mall," JD cut in. "And Evans and all of Team Five were there..."

"Hey, who's telling this story?" Buck tried to look threatening, but failed pretty miserably.

"You are, Buck," JD deferred. "But if you dont get to it, or you leave things out, I'll just have to do my duty to Vin, and fill in those bits. So get going." The others nodded at Buck, and Vin just waited expectantly.

"You see, Vin, we didn't have a clue what was up. Chris and Evans went off together, to settle the bet, and we were just left standing. But then Melissa dropped JD here a clue, and we all cruised over to the mall." The others nodded and smiled, as if Buck needed some sort of support to continue his monologue. Vin tried to think what in the Four Corners Galleria could have sparked this level of amusement for a handful of mostly-grown men; and at the same time put that glower on Chris's face.

"Can you imagine our surprise," Buck went on, "when we caught up with them at the Piercing Pagoda? I mean..."

Buck rambled on for another minute, but Vin's ears had to have just taken some sort of vacation. He really hadn't heard that, had he? Piercing? Chris? Nothing could be further from the man's character. Jeez. Rob must have really had it in for him. But Chris, stubborn asshole that he was, wouldn't back down from a bet once he'd made it. Vin tried to picture Chris with any jewelry more elaborate than a wristwatch, and he just failed.

"Vin?" Buck finally seemed to have noticed that he'd lost his audience, and reached out to tap Vin's chin. Which was the first time he'd realized his jaw was hanging open. He snapped it shut in reaction.

"Piercing Pagoda?" he managed to choke out, looking around the group just to make sure Buck wasn't pulling his leg. But they all nodded solemnly. All except JD, who launched into his own description.

"Yeah! It's one of those kiosks out in the middle of the mall, with earrings and charms and stuff. And there was this girl, she couldn't have been more than seventeen, and she seemed pretty surprised that Chris was there. She kept trying to sell him earrings for his girlfriend or wife, y'know? Like the dangly ones with butterflies or someth--" JD cut off abruptly when Buck elbowed him in the gut, and then continued his narrative.

"So we--all of us, Team Five, too--gave up trying to be discreet and just gathered around in the middle of the mall, as this little Moroccan girl starts talking to Chris about hypo-allergenic, the benefits of titanium over gold or silver, and so on. You should have seen him." Vin could picture it very well, and it looked an awful lot like what he'd seen come through the door a couple of minutes ago. "It was priceless."

"Indeed," Ezra put in his two cents worth for the first time. "I believe that the surveillance footage would be invaluable, if we could obtain it."

Vin still hadn't quite gotten over the first word though. He did manage to get it out again, still amazed. "Piercing? Chris?" And he thought of all the places that might be pierced on anyone *other* than Chris Larabee, and a thrill ran through him. "Where?" He tried to remember the exact terms of the bet. Something about no pain, within the regs, and won't affect the job. It left a wide range of possibilities. 

"Just a little tiny stud in his ear," JD scoffed. "I don't get why he's making such a big deal about it. I have friends..."

Again, Vin knew JD was still speaking, but now his eyes were gone, trying to reconstruct Chris's stormy passage from the elevator to the office. Had he seen a glint of gold there? A diamond? Surely he would have noticed? But wait, he'd been turned slightly, and Vin could only visualize his right ear, the one that had a years-old bullet nick, that had been corrected by plastic surgery but didn't quite match the... "The left ear?" Vin managed to ask, hoping that he really didn't sound as shrill as he thought he did.

"Yup," Buck confirmed. "By the time she figured out that he was serious, since she could tell he wasn't exactly happy to be there, and then she made him sign all the waivers, and everything..." 

"I did prevent an egregious error in his choice of accessories," Ezra offered.

Damn. Chris Larabee with an earring. For the next month. The idea touched off triggers Vin didn't know he had. He wanted to see it, touch it. Wanted to see Chris's body react when he sucked at it. And Chris *was* gonna react. No doubt about that. Vin felt a grin stretch his lips. Oh, yeah.

"And then Meriam, that's the ear-piercing girl," of course Buck had learned her name, probably had her phone number, too, "she pulls out this earring gun sort of thing, and she loads it, and Chris is just sitting there, and you can see he hates it. But with Rob Evans and the rest of Five standing by, he's just gritting his teeth to get through it." Buck really was having way too much fun at the humiliation of someone he considered one of his closest friends. "And then, when she did it--"

"He yelled!" JD yelled himself, unable to stifle the outburst.

"Well, not so much yelled, as squeaked," Ezra contributed. 

Man, if piercing was about as unlikely a thing for Chris Larabee to do, squeaking would have to have made second place. Well, except when Vin supplied the stimulus, but that didn't have any place in this conversation. He searched the group again, and they nodded seriously. No doubt about it. Squeaking was involved. And Chris was pissed, no doubt about that, either. And Vin had missed it for a damn unnecessary doctor's visit. Fuck.

"And now?" he asked.

"Well, he hasn't spoken a word since then, near as we can tell," Josiah put in. 

"Hsst," Nathan warned from the doorway. Larabee incoming. Well, there wasn't another exit from the break room, so they'd have to just act innocent. Yeah, that was likely. 

Chris just cleared his throat in the doorway, and said, "Uncle Sam's not paying you to sit around jawin' all afternoon. Think you could get a little work done around here?" Vin craned his head to the side, trying to get a clear sightline, but Josiah's huge shoulders were in the way. And then Buck chuckled, JD failed to completely stifle his giggle, and everyone wandered back into the bullpen. Before Vin managed to fight free of the crowd, Chris headed back to his office, closing the door once more. Damn. 

***

The last hour of the workday crawled by, broken up by the occasional chortle or intent stare at the closed blinds. Chris didn't emerge until past six, and didn't deign to reply to the shouted invites to join the guys at Inez's. 

"C'mon, Vin," Buck urged, "just 'cause he's being a putz doesn't mean you can't let loose a little. Won't be the same without you." Yeah, likely story, Bucklin. Once you set your sights on Inez, or whoever else manages to cross your path this evening...

"Nah, I gotta see the old man home, and make sure he doesn't take it out in road rage on the general population. Hasta mañana." He waved easily, and followed Chris to the elevator.

Chris faced the doors, pointedly neither waiting for Vin nor looking his way. Vin didn't push it, until they wound up in an elevator by themselves. Chris would have stayed faced away, but Vin reached out a gentle hand, inviting him to turn, and Chris did, sharply. He raised his head defiantly and stared angrily into Vin's eyes, as if daring him to laugh or tease.

But the overhead light in the small booth caught and reflected off the tiny gold stud in Chris's left earlobe, seizing Vin's breath so suddenly and sharply, almost reaching out and grabbing his guts. Jeezus, it was beautiful. If Chris Larabee wasn't a man for jewelry, it wasn't because it didn't suit him. It did. It set off that incredibly masculine face, just so, and even picked up bright highlights in his dark-blond hair. 

Chris still looked angry though. For once their silent communication seemed interrupted. Looked like Vin would have to find words to express he way that little bit of metal seemed to be tied directly to his insides, turning them molten. He'd just opened his mouth to try, when the doors chimed and opened on the fourth floor, and two evidence clerks and a security guard joined them. Fuck.

They all rode together to the parking deck and nodded politely as they exited. It was a short, tense walk to the Ram, and then they were safely inside the tinted windows. Chris paused a moment, hand poised over the key, and then turned sideways on the seat to face him.  The cab was dark and shadowy; Vin looked hard but couldn't catch a glimpse of gold.

"Go on," Chris said, more resigned than angry, "you know you want to."

Vin shook his head and smiled, stifling the chuckle that he knew Chris would take the wrong way. "Think I owe Rob a favor," he finally said. Chris took that wrong, too, eyes narrowing to angry slits. "'M sorry it only lasts fer a month." Chris opened his mouth to reply, and Vin only wished he could shut it with a kiss. He settled for his hand.

"'M damn sorry you're angry. More sorry you hate it." He paused there, watching confusion wash across Chris's features. "'Cause I do believe it's the single sexiest thing I've ever seen on you." He felt his voice drop to a lower register as he said it, and saw the resulting shudder wash through Chris. "Yeah," he confirmed. "That's exactly how it makes me feel." 

Chris looked away a moment, and when he brought his eyes back up they were both uncertain and amused. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah," Vin confirmed, making sure with his voice Chris couldn't doubt it. "So what say you put this truck in gear, and take us someplace private?"

The confusion disappeared, and Chris returned Vin's smile. "Guess I could do something about that." He did, screeching tires out of the parking structure and onto the streets of Denver. It was enough past rush hour that they made good time, and Chris took the turn that would lead to Purgatorio and Vin's apartment, rather than the highway, and the ranch. It worked for Vin, it was at least twenty minutes closer, and they drove in comfortable silence, the radio whispering in the background.

Chris parked under a streetlight out front, collecting his briefcase and the faceplate of his car stereo. He set the alarm, too, the lights flashing confirmation and the locks clicking solidly, as if that would stop someone down here if they wanted to steal something. But it hadn't happened yet, and Vin could only hope that their good luck held tonight. 

He followed Chris up the stairs, shamelessly checking out his ass in the tight black jeans. Chris glanced back partway up, caught him looking, and grinned a little, adding a pronounced swagger to his hips for the next few risers. "Like what you see, sailor?" he taunted. Vin only leered, reaching out to slide a finger up the rear seam of Larabee's jeans. He jumped, then jogged on upward his boots echoing in the empty stairwell. Vin followed more slowly.

Chris already had the door open, and as Vin came onto the landing he shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it up. He turned to look back, and the overhead light glinted on the earring.  Vin pushed in, kicking the door shut, and pressing Chris back against the wall for a deep searching kiss. Chris wrapped his arms around Vin's back, pulling him in even closer, and returned the deep kiss. 

Vin pulled back slightly, and Chris tried to follow, but he avoided that mouth, instead nibbling along the shadowed jaw, and up toward his target. Chris went very still. Carefully, slowly, he extended his tongue, barely touching the small metal ball warm from Chris's skin. Chris gasped and stiffened, and Vin pulled back to meet his eyes.

"Sore?" he asked. Maybe a little, Vin thought, but pain wasn't the primary emotion on Chris's face. More like surprise. And rapture. "Oh, yeah," he murmured, touching it again, still gently, tentatively, wanting Chris to have all the time he needed to get used to this. 

"Jeez," Chris finally moaned. "Oh god." And then his hands slid up Vin's back, into his hair, holding him steady as Chris went on his own exploring mission, from Vin's mouth to his neck, to his intact earlobe. He stayed there a time, nibbling and sucking, sending thrills and shivers up and down Vin's spine. Vin countered, running his own hands up the front of Chris's shirt, finding and undoing each button, until it hung open and warm, pale flesh exposed. He skimmed one hand up to rub gently at a stiff nipple, then pinched it just a little sharply.

"Could get you one here, too," he teased. But he was taunting himself as much as Chris, because now he envisioned a glint of metal there, standing out against the pink bud, amid the light dusting of chest hair. His cock throbbed painfully in his suddenly tight jeans, and Chris's laugh rumbled right by his ear.

"Never knew you had such twisted kinks, Tanner," he whispered evilly, then pushed Vin away, back toward the bedroom. Vin wasn't going to argue with that plan, no way, no how. 

"I have hidden depths." Vin tried for a mysterious smile, and hoped he at least managed to not look foolish. He led the way, flipped on the bedroom light, and flipped it back on after Chris automatically doused it. "No. Leave it on. I want to see you." 

"Oh yeah? Another one of those hidden depths?" Chris smiled in amusement and no tiny amount of his own arousal. He dropped into a lazy hipshot pose, running one hand up the middle of his exposed chest, and the other down over the pronounced bulge in the front of his jeans. 

Vin was rooted to the spot. He couldn't even move to touch himself, so mesmerized was he by Chris's uncharacteristic display. He watched as Chris's hands went slowly to the button on his fly, opening the jeans with deliberate provocation, sliding one hand in to fondle himself. Vin's breathing got a little harder and faster. And other parts of him got harder, too, though he wouldn't have thought it was possible. 

Chris alternated watching his own hands and sending steamy glances Vin's way. Vin couldn't decide where to look, because everything from Chris's hands to the quick rise and fall of his chest, from his burning blue-green eyes to that damn sparkling earring... All of it was driving him insane, and Chris was still across the room and three-quarters dressed. "Chris?" It came out as more of a whine than he'd meant, but it did arrest the maddening hand in the front of Chris's pants.

"Yeah, cowboy?" Oh, Larabee was enjoying this way too much, and when had that happened? Not that Vin didn't want him to enjoy it, but... Vin didn't know what he'd wanted before, but what he wanted now was Chris with him, in the bed, and without any of these damn clothes between them. 

"Bed?" he rasped, low in his throat.

Chris nodded slightly, and Vin was released from his paralysis, able to yank his t-shirt and flannel shirt off over his head while simultaneously heeling off his running shoes and socks. He was a little more careful easing his jeans and shorts off over his blazing hard-on, but it was probably a personal best for fully clothed to buck-naked. Chris laughed out loud, and followed suit, if much more slowly. Vin's fingers itched to touch each bit of skin as it was revealed. He finally did step forward, unbuckling Chris's watch and his own, and dropping them on top of the dresser. 

Chris shivered under his touch, and Vin paused a moment to knead some of the ever-present tension at the base of Chris's neck, drawing out a low groan. With a tiny push in the critical direction, he steered Chris over to the bed, easing him down on top of the rumpled sheets. Tuesday--or maybe it was Wednesday--morning, after a late night on stakeout, they'd eked out a quickie between the alarm and the morning Starbucks run. Housekeeping had suffered. 

Vin pressed Chris back into the pillows, kneeling astride, loving the slide of his skin along Chris's. Keeping his hands propped on Chris's shoulders, he leaned down to taste the sweat beading at the center of Chris's breastbone. Chris arched up in response and gasped sharply, sending a shiver along Vin's nerves. He traced slowly upwards to the hollow of Chris's throat, where his pulse throbbed under the skin, sucking and biting gently, not quite willing to leave his own mark. From there his mouth followed the powerful tendon up to Chris's jaw, and along to... 

He paused before he got there, blowing gently across the earlobe, watching even that ghostly touch strike through Chris's whole body. He felt the muscles go taut under him, Chris's breathing breaking into shallow pants. His own body made demands, but he tried to ignore them, wanting this moment, this attention, to be all Chris's. 

Slowly, gently, he closed his lips around Chris's earlobe, carefully tracing the skin-warm metal, alert for any sign of pain. But unless Chris's pain response sounded a lot like ecstasy, complete with a guttural moan that seemed to surprise him as much as it did Vin, they didn't have anything to worry about.

He sucked and nuzzled more around Chris's ear and neck, and Chris moaned again. And while the earring seemed to have strings into Vin's gut, they went somewhere else altogether in Chris. He was writhing now in response to Vin's steady attention, arching, pressing his groin up, rubbing hard on Vin. It was like lightning running to ground, jolting through him so that Vin gasped himself, dropped his face back into Chris's throat, and pressed down, rubbing hard.

"Vin, Vin, Vin..." Chris panted. He pulled back, looking into Chris's face. But Chris wasn't asking for anything, wasn't responding on any rational, thinking level. His features were twisted in a grimace of pleasure, eyes closed and mouth wide, breaths still coming fast and shallow. He looked close, too close, and Vin pulled away. He wanted-- Tonight, he wanted to be marked, branded. It would be private, inside, where no-one else could see, but real nonetheless. Known only to Chris and himself. 

Leaning across to the bedside table, he fished out the lube and dug around for a condom. The foil packet was almost a struggle to open, with his hands shaking and sweaty. But he managed it and, cautious of Chris's pronounced arousal, carefully rolled the rubber over Chris's swollen dick. Chris cracked his eyes for that, and offered a tiny smile as Vin reached around with a couple of fingers and greased himself. 

Kneeling up and over Chris again, he pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss onto those parted lips. "Ready?" Chris murmured, sliding a hand down to hold and guide his cock as Vin deliberately sat back, easing himself onto solid erection. He dropped his own eyes shut, concentrating on the feel of Chris stretching him, sliding in so slowly, holding the tension in his quads until he was tightly pressed to Chris's thighs. He held still there, trying to stretch this moment, this feeling, taking it all in. Chris was beautiful under him, all muscle and power, and sweet joy in their pleasure. And that fucking earring, the damn sexiest toy Vin had ever seen, winked at him from behind Chris's sweaty, mussed hair. 

"Perfect," he whispered. He watched Chris startle at that, though Vin was kind of surprised that Chris could still hear at all. "You're perfect." He was, everything that Vin had never even known to want, would never have expected to get if he had known. A miracle made flesh, and given to his safekeeping.

"No," Chris contradicted gently. "We're perfect." And he smiled so sweetly that Vin felt it stab right through him, the rush so intense that he had to move, rocking gently at first, then rising up, almost to emptiness, and then sliding, smooth back onto Chris, into Chris, into bliss. Chris met him with every stroke, his hands caressing Vin's quads, massaging and teasing by turns. 

It turned from gentle to driving between one breath and the next and then, "Oh god, Chris." Vin gathered him up from the pillows, pulling him in, driving himself down onto Chris' hardness, pressing them together belly and chest. It was close, so close. By the time his mouth hit upon Chris's ear, he'd forgotten that the earring had been the catalyst. But he was back now, and not afraid to use it. Chris cried out sharply, and then came, his body shaken and rocked as if by gale-force winds.

"Vin, Vin." He was chanting almost, clutching at Vin's back as the orgasm washed through him, driving deeper, harder in response. And between the hot, wet stroking outside and in, he sparked a fire that rushed through Vin, spontaneously breaking out in sweat, heat, and pure satisfaction.

They clung that way for minutes, letting the tiny pulses of pleasure wash through them, occasionally stroking or touching absently, but mostly just riding it out for as long as they could make it last. Chris finally sagged back against the disarranged pillows, and Vin followed him down, shifting slightly to release him. He settled in pressed tightly along his left side, head pillowed on his muscular shoulder, Chris's arm wrapped tightly, holding him there. Each gusting exhale across Chris's nipple triggered a tiny shiver, even though Vin was pretty sure they were both spent for now. But it never hurt a man's pride to see his effect on his lover. 

He snuggled in closer, if that was possible, pressing a kiss into the skin of Chris's chest, and let a wave of lassitude roll over him. He wasn't sure whether he dozed or not, but came back to full awareness when Chris began carding through his hair, pushing it back from where it had stuck to his forehead and cheeks, catching in tangles that Vin never managed to completely eliminate. Maybe he'd just break down and cut it all off. Wasn't like he'd never done it before. The army came to mind. But Chris took such pleasure in it...

And speaking of pleasure, of pleasing your lover even when it's not the thing you might choose yourself... "See?" he said, and watched confusion cloud Chris's eyes. "I told you I owed Rob a favor."

"You'd better not be thanking him any time soon," Chris threatened, but there was no heat to it. He settled down, nuzzling Vin's neck, already fading toward sleep. The overhead light was on, the bed was still a mess, and Vin really couldn't care less. With only a little contortion, he snagged the covers with one foot and dragged them up far enough to grab. Chris sighed when Vin tucked them around him, and again when Vin pressed a soft kiss into his throat, and then he was snoring softly. Vin lay awake a while longer, listening to the quiet rhythm of Chris's heart and the background hum of the city, until he drifted to sleep. 


	2. Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following friends for invaluable assistance: Maygra, Charlotte, Killa, Ellie, Sandy, Rache, and Auk  
> Originally posted 3/15/03

The ringing of the phone jerked Chris out of his doze and, sitting half-upright and feeling for the cordless, he managed to spill the contents of the entire Wattney file across the carpet of the den. He cursed softly, and made it upright only to discover his left foot was asleep and almost wouldn't hold him, and finally found the phone just as the answering machine to picked up. His own voice, distorted by old tape, hissed into the quiet, "You've reached 555-6348..." Since he'd missed it anyway, he let the machine go, waiting to see who was on the line.

"Hey, cowboy," Vin's soft voice floated out of the machine. "I know you're there, 'cause you don't have anything better to do on a Friday night..."

Chris hit the talk button, cutting the machine off. "Hey," he said softly, wandering back over to the sofa, and stretching out lengthwise, making himself comfortable.

"Hey," Vin answered. And that was all they said for a moment, just breathing quietly, sharing space on the phone and two thousand miles apart.

Vin had been in DC for almost a week now, part of a joint-force conference for law enforcement techniques. It was kind of a substitute deal that had turned out better than planned, well, better for the FBI bureaucrat--Blumford--who was staffing the conference. He'd called a month ago, wanting Ezra for a specific panel and to represent the ATF, but Ezra had had a vacation scheduled for six months, and wasn't going to skip a week in Paris for a conference in DC in the steaming heart of July. Blumford had been very persistent, so Ezra had countered by singing the praises of the multi-talented, widely experienced paragon of law enforcement virtue that was Vin Tanner. When the guy had heard of Vin's background as an army sniper, and then his past as a bounty hunter and a U.S. Marshall, he'd been sufficiently diverted to ensure Ezra's vacation was safe. Vin hadn't been eager to go, had fought it pretty hard in fact, until Blumford brought out the big guns. Literally. One day of the conference was a presentation by half a dozen of the top weapons manufacturers, covering both long guns and hand weapons. He needed someone to do the live-fire demonstrations, and rate the weapons for acceptance into the GSA purchasing program. To say Blumford had been a good salesperson was like saying Buck Wilmington liked women: factually true, but so pale a statement compared to reality that it wasn't even worth saying.

Chris and Vin had spoken daily, about inconsequential things; he'd talked the office that felt half-empty with both Vin and Ezra gone, and their initial research for the case they were trying to develop against Zig Wattney. Vin bitched about whatever stupid windbag had bored him for eight hours in an under-cooled conference room at the FBI's Quantico training center. Blumford wasn't stupid, he knew that Vin--along with a goodly percentage of the other attendees--was only there for the weapons display, so it was scheduled for the penultimate day of the conference, a carrot to keep his captives in line. It was working so far, but Chris wasn't sure whether Vin would make it to Tuesday, based on the frustration level he'd heard building over the last few days.

"Whatcha up to?" Vin sounded hollow. He must be on the cell, rather than calling from the motel he'd described in depressing detail on his arrival.

"Honestly?" Chris smiled, imagining how different his Friday would be if Vin were here. Whether they'd gone out or stayed in, there was a charge, an excitement to the time they stole from their busy jobs to spend with each other. Their relationship was still new enough, magical enough, to make even a quiet evening together at home reviewing paperwork something special. "I fell asleep trying to make it through Josiah's prelim on Wattney." Vin's chuckle rolled down the line; Josiah's quiet clarity in spoken conversation never quite made it to the written page. His reports were notoriously long and rambling, and no amount of criticism--constructive or otherwise--seemed to change his ways.

Vin fell quiet again, and Chris noticed an odd prickling at the back of his neck, a peculiar energy, tension, something that didn't sound or feel like he expected it to. "Vin?" he questioned quietly, and got no response. "What's wrong?" All of a sudden he had a mental image of his normally reserved agent going postal on the FBI, and it wasn't pretty. He pushed upright, getting his feet on the floor in case he had to take action.

"Wrong?" Vin sounded surprised. Good, Chris must have misread his own instincts. "Nothing wrong, just called to ask you a question." Question? Since when did Vin pussyfoot around? When he wanted to know something from Chris, he just asked.

"Shoot." Chris prompted, curious now to know what was going on.

"What's your favorite color?" Vin paused a moment, then shot in quickly, sounding a little more normal, "Not counting black, 'cause that's right out."

Okay, not what he was expecting, but not too weird a question. Maybe Vin was shopping for early Christmas presents? Drapes? Socks? It was an easy answer though, had been ever since he'd fallen for this crazy bundle of contradictions. "Blue."

"'Kay," Chris heard clearly, then more distantly, as if Vin had turned away from the phone, "that one, no the next one, yeah." Chris did a little mental math: it was past 9 p.m. in DC, wherever Vin was shopping, it wasn't your normal department store, they'd be long closed.

"Vin?" he asked, almost sing-song. "What are you up to?" Chris rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, wishing for Vin's hands to be there, massaging some of the rock-hard tension away.

"Nothin'," Vin answered, a little too quickly. "You'll like it, I promise."

"Vin?" he asked again, letting a little bit of steel enter his voice. "Are you drunk?" He didn't think so, hadn't heard any indication in Vin's voice, but something was weird about this, and he didn't want to be flying out to DC to haul Vin out whatever mess he managed to get into through pure boredom and frustration.

"Nope." And Chris believed him. "Wouldn't let me in if I was impaired." It was said matter-of-factly, and sent another warning signal through Chris's already alert brain.

"What's your twenty, Tanner?" He wanted to know where he was, what he was up to, since it sounded like something he wasn't any too sure the man should be up to, especially far away and flying without backup.

"'M in the city. Came in with a couple of the guys, but they wanted to hit clubs, and I was too amped." Yeah, Chris knew the look that Vin would get, had come to recognize the edgy tension that signaled Tanner-on-overload. He'd usually expend it physically, whether running, fighting, or in hard physical labor. Both Nettie Wells' house and Chris's ranch had been recipients of Vin's efforts in the past. More recently, though, that stress had found another outlet in some of the most mind-blowing sex that Chris Larabee had ever experienced.

"And?" Chris prompted. DC might not be the murder capital of the world any longer, but it wasn't the safest place to be wandering around at night, especially if you were Hurricane Vin, looking for a place to make landfall. Vin was talking to someone else again, but muffled voices and static didn't give Chris enough clues to figure out what was up. "Vin?"

"Keep yer pants on, cowboy, I'll be right back." Vin sounded amused, but then Chris heard a sharp click as the phone was set down, and the background noise washed into his ear. Voices other than Vin's, some muffled music, nothing clear enough to identify the location. Chris had a moment of inspiration and, raising his right thumb and index finger to his mouth, sent a piercing whistle down the phone line. It had an effect, because someone other than Vin was now talking in his ear.

"Yeah, graphics, what can I do you for?" The voice was female, cigarette roughened, but not unpleasant. She sounded competent and calm; so whatever Vin was up to, it hadn't erupted into chaos yet.

"Graphics? Like Kinkos?" Chris asked, confused.

"No." She spelled it out: "G-R-A-F-I-X-X. As in tattoos and body art?" The sudden visual of Vin, under a needle, marking that smooth, tan skin drove the breath out of Chris in a gasp. Not shocked. He'd seen enough of his Navy buddies end up in tattoo parlors, looking for a thrill or a sense of self, had even made it as far as his butt in the chair once, before he'd chickened out, much to Buck's amusement. But looking back, Chris was just as glad not to have a permanent souvenir of that weekend in Manila. Chris was getting set to ask her some more pointed questions, but he heard her surprised "hey" at a distance from the microphone, then Vin's soft voice again.

"You checking up on me, boss?" Vin tried to sound pissed off, but he was laughing, too, high on an adrenaline rush that Chris recognized all too well.

"Tattoo parlor, Vin? Gonna come home decorated?" Chris knew, suddenly and certainly, that making a big deal of this was the last thing he needed to do. Vin was on a tear, and giving him something to push against would just incite him to rebel further. Besides, certain parts of Chris were kind of intrigued at the idea of Vin marked, decorated, branded.

Vin laughed, full-throated and dirty, sending a thrill curling through Chris's guts. "Not like you're picturing, jeez, Larabee. You think I wanna have 'I heart Mom' on my ass for the rest of my life?" His ass? Chris hadn't even gone there, before. Damn. But *not* his ass, he'd said.

"C'mon, Tanner. Tell me what you're up to," Chris wheedled. "You know you're dyin' to." And he was. It was why he'd called, obviously. But Vin was determined to drag it out, to make Chris pay...

"Still owe Rob that favor," he muttered. It was a clue, and Chris switched the phone to his right ear, slipping a finger up to fondle the small gold stud at his left; it only took a touch for it to trigger a response lower. Chris hadn't gone to a tattoo parlor, though, just to an ear-piercing kiosk at the local mall. You only had to go to body art places for more extreme...

"Vin...?" he queried again. "What should I know?" He waited, still teasing himself by nudging and spinning the stud.

"Gonna do it, Chris." He could hear the arousal now; that was the previously unidentified tension. Vin was amped and tense, and it was overflowing into sex instead of anger. It was a good coping behavior--god knew Chris favored it, when he was around to be the recipient--but it might be a bit inappropriate right now. "Right nipple..." He said something else, Chris was pretty sure, but the sudden shock of arousal at that mental image drove all comprehension from Chris's brain. He was breathing hard, pulling harshly at his own earlobe, and cranking his shoulder up to hold the phone so that his right hand could delve lower, cupping the sudden heat and hardness at his groin.

"Chris? Chris!" Some time later--seconds or minutes, he wasn't sure--Vin's concerned voice in the phone managed to break through Chris's heated distraction. "You still there, Chris?"

"Yeah, cowboy," he managed to gasp, forcing his hand away from his dick, picking up the phone from where it had slipped, running the other hand over his face, trying to massage some sense back into himself. "I'm here. I'm here. Kinda wish I was there, though." Vin hadn't been there when Chris had undergone the indignity of the Piercing Pagoda, and he'd been glad. It had been hard enough to keep a straight face while that poor girl had done her job, with a crowd of rowdy ATF agents watching. But with the tables turned, he was disappointed. "How long you been planning this, Tanner?" he asked. It could be a spur of the moment lark, but he doubted it. Something told him...

"Since that night. So...what? Three months, give or take? Had to get my nerve up." Yeah, right. Like Vin lacked nerve for anything. Sometimes Chris was sure he had ice water in his veins.

"So why there, now? Why not here, with me?" He wasn't hurt by it, really, just surprised that Vin would do something like this on his own. Did he think that Chris would fight him on it? Disapprove? Chris thought back to before the bet, to his own embarrassment and shame at being marked against his will. Maybe Vin *did* think he'd disapprove, but he was wrong. "Wish I was there," he murmured, making sure Vin could hear his arousal.

"You are," Vin answered. "Yer always here, even when yer not." Chris let that settle into him, knowing that it was true for him, too, though he hadn't had words for it before. "Stay with me?"

"You got it, cowboy," Chris's response was instantaneous. "You just stay on the line, and I'll be right here."

"Good, 'cause it looks like I'm up next." Chris heard the smile in Vin's voice, and rose from the sofa, crossing to the bar and pouring himself a double scotch. He sipped at it slowly, listening to the background voices as Vin talked to someone else, then spoke again into the phone. "Suzy is gonna do it for me. I checked around, she has a really good reputation. And they have a health department certificate posted out front. Not lookin' for any complications here." Chris hadn't even thought of that, but thank god that Vin had. The last thing he needed was an infection that would be difficult to explain.

"Glad to hear it, Vin. You gonna get any anesthesia on this?" Chris cringed a bit, imagining the sharp, sudden pain from the piercing gun at his ear applied to the tender skin of his own nipple.

"Naw," Vin scoffed. "Gonna be okay. Just clamp it, stick it, then slide the ring in. Gonna be sore for a few days, though. Want it to be better by Wednesday." Better in time to come home. Healed enough for Chris to welcome him back. Man, they probably wouldn't even make it out of the airport before Chris would be wanting to rip Vin's shirt off, to see it, touch it, taste it. Fuck. Chris made a note to put in a request for personal leave. For both of them. "Hey, Suzy, say 'hi' to Chris, for me. He sounds a little nervous."

Suzy was the same low, raspy voice he'd heard earlier, but now she was a little more personable. "Hey, Chris. Gonna take good care of Vin here. He's too pretty for me to make any mistakes on. He tell you what we're up to tonight?"

"Yeah." Chris thought he ought to have more to say, but... Words failed him.

"Got himself a sweet little silver hoop. Has a lapis bead on it. Dark blue just about matches those eyes of his. You want me to send you a picture when we're done? Or you wanna be surprised?" Picture? Chris wasn't sure he needed one. He could see Vin's chest as if it were right in front of him, the tan skin, the dark, small nipples. And it was no effort at all to imagine a glint of silver, a dark blue bead offset against the dusky bud. He licked his lips in anticipation.

"Nah. Don't need it." She chuckled, and then the phone shifted and Vin's low laugh washed into Chris's ear.

"Yeah, I'm ready." But he wasn't speaking to Chris, just sharing, as things got underway. Vin giggled, he was already ticklish around his nipples, and apparently Suzy was touching or rubbing them.

"Not fair, Vin, unless you tell me what's happening," Chris prompted. If he couldn't be there, for whatever reason Vin had decided, he at least wanted to share as much as he could.

"Shes just cleaning it. Alcohol swab, and anti-bacterial. Nathan would be proud of Suzy here." Suzy said something back, but again, Chris couldn't parse the words. "She's marking where she's gonna do it. Tickles a bit, but probably not for long." Chris imagined a woman's small, strong hands on Vin's chest, preparing him.

"Gonna clamp it now. Says it cuts off blood flow, and dampens the pain a bit..." Vin gasped sharply, and it didn't sound like he was happy about the feeling.

"You sure you want to go through with this, Vin?" Chris didn't know how much it would hurt, but if Vin was in pain before there were even sharp objects involved, maybe this wasn't such a great idea.

"Naw, 'm fine. It's fading already. Just kind of surprised me, you know? She's right, it's starting to go numb." Chris doubted that Vin was telling the whole truth there, but he sure didn't have any way to change things, two thousand miles and two time zones away. Vin was gonna do what Vin was gonna do. All Chris could do was witness it for him, however remotely.

"She's got the needle, Chris. Gonna stick it, with a plastic tube, then the ring goes through the tube, and the tube comes out. Easy as pie, pard." It didn't sound easy, and Vin didn't sound nervous, more matter-of-fact. But that went right out the window when Vin suddenly gasped, and then shouted, "Son of a bitch, lady!" Chris sprang up off the couch in response, dumping the last of his drink down his front. What the fuck could he do, Vin was there, he was here, damnitall. Vin trailed of into a litany of "fuck, fuck, fuck" that went on for t least a minute.

Chris waited for a pause, and then finally ventured, "Vin? You okay?" He could hear the harsh breathing still, but Vin had at least stopped cursing.

"Yeah, 'm fine." He actually sounded okay. Pissed off, but not injured, and Chris relaxed a little. "Feels like someone punched me in the stomach though. Damn!" He chuckled a little, and his breathing was no longer audible. "'m fine, Chris, don't worry. Suzy's almost done here." She wasn't done yet? Oh, yeah, there was still the part about actually inserting the earring, nipple ring, whatever. Vin was quiet, except for a grunt or two, and then, a final relaxed sigh. "All done, cowboy," he whispered, sending a shiver up Chris's back.

"Good," Chris smiled his relief, and though Vin couldn't see it, he was pretty sure he knew it was there. "You thank Suzy for taking such good care of you, okay?" Chris was thinking of sending his own thank you, maybe flying out to deliver it in person.

"Okay. Gonna hang up now, head back out to the Roach Motel for a little shut eye." Chris could already hear the tension draining out of his voice. Vin would probably be half-asleep before he got there, and out cold until mid-morning unless someone brought him some really strong coffee.

"Night, Vin."

"Love you, Chris," Vin whispered softly before hanging up.

"Love you, too," Chris answered the empty room.

***

Two hours and two large scotches later, Chris hadn't managed to do much more than reassemble the Wattney file in something approaching its original order. It had been all he could do to identify which pages went where, much less actually read or retain any of the data. Damn waste of time. It felt too early for bed, barely ten, but he decided to make an early night of it. However, once he'd locked up, shut off all thelights, and climbed into his big, empty bed, he had to admit it wasn't going to work. Tension was still singing in every nerve, in spite of the liberal dose of Johnny Walker he'd applied. On any other night he'd have called Vin in spite of the time difference, chatted inconsequentially, and maybe even indulged in a little phone sex. But he knew Vin was sleeping, hard, and needed it. Chris was just gonna have to exhibit a little independence tonight. It hadn't been that long ago he would have been on his own anyway, home on a Friday night with nothing but a raging hard-on for company. And the solution was one well known, if not well loved.

It started out almost desultorily, Chris dropping one hand into the front of his PJs, stroking the fine line of hair that ran from his navel down to the base of his cock, carding through the wiry pubic hair, teasing but not touching his aching shaft. He wasn't even breathing hard, just feeling, exploring, testing his own response. And then it was nothing to snake his left hand across, to pinch a little more sharply than he normally would, to try it with his fingernails and try to imagine what it must feel like-- His body jerked sharply, his dick starting to weep and throb in response. Carefully, even more slowly, he tried it again, pulling sharply at the nipple, imagining it was Vin's darker skin under his fingers. Again, the shuddering response shook him.

It was some kind of weird mirror-masturbation... Instead of imagining Vin's hands on him, he was imagining his on Vin, but then feeling the touches in his own body. He'd given up the calm, slow plan, and was urgently rubbing and pulling his dick in the half-chaotic interrupted rhythm that always drove Vin insane. Meanwhile, he was still pulling and pinching at 'Vin's' nipple, envisioning the promised accouterment. The silver would be warm from Vin's skin, and capture and reflect the light from the bedside lamp, glinting amid the dusting of chest hair so light it was nearly invisible. Lapis, blue as dark as Vin's eyes, framed by smooth, tanned flesh. Chris's breathing began to catch. Arching, he thrust hard into his own grip, sucking and licking the fingers of his left hand before smoothing them over his chest again, wishing fleetingly to be enough of a contortionist to be able to blow across his own nipple. In his mind, he watched Vin shiver under the puff of air.

The moment stretched, Chris was straining, waiting, pulling, rubbing, almost frustrating himself on the very edge of orgasm. He flashed, suddenly, on Vin's goofy grin, the one saved for "shit, I just tripped over my own shoelace" and "whaddya mean you want me to put on clothes before I cook breakfast," and his heart melted as quickly as his body had earlier, pouring out joy like Chris had never expected to feel again, kicking his ass over the edge into orgasm. He shuddered and jerked, riding it out still with one hand gripping his cock hard, and the other twisting and pinching his nipple until he thought it might come off in his hand. It actually hurt now, but that didn't stop it from sending little flashes of excitement out to his fingertips and down to his groin.

He panted, feeling the racing heartbeat pounding in his temples, hearing it rush in his ears. He rode it out as long as he could, clinging to the high until it slowly drained out of him. He lay back, limply, unable to muster the energy for anything more strenuous than rubbing the warm, sticky mess into the skin of his belly, feeling his eyes dropping shut even though the bedside lamp was on. Not caring, because this release and relaxation was so powerful and peaceful; he slid into the darkness with surprising ease.

* * *

Chris woke muzzy-headed and dry-mouthed, stinking of his own sweat and sex. He groaned as bright sunlight filtered in through the blinds, stabbing his eyes, then he rolled off the bed and staggered upright. Dragging on jeans, boots and dark glasses, Chris felt his way through coffee and the morning chores, then stumbled into the shower. He was half-way into his suit when he remembered it was Saturday and no one was expecting him anywhere. It was good enough excuse to fall back into bed, and he did.

Two hours later, the phone jerked him alert, and he grabbed and answered it before his eyes were even open. "Larabee," he barked, maybe a little harsher than necessary.

There was a long-ish pause, a click, and then a perky young voice wanted to talk to him about his mutual fund portfolio. Chris cursed and slammed the phone down. He lay there a few more minutes, praying for more sleep, but he was awake now and not likely to get any more rest, no matter how much he needed it. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, mentally reviewing the list of tasks overdue around the ranch. Things he knew needed to get done, but somehow always seemed less urgent than the current crisis at the office or the opportunity to bend Vin over and have his way with him. He'd have neither of those diversions today. Gutters and gardening sounded equally appealing, which was to say, not at all. Sighing heavily, he hauled himself out of bed.

* * *

The weekend dragged so slowly that by Sunday noon, Chris found himself on the phone to Buck inviting himself over to watch the baseball game. He stopped on the way to pick up beer and chips, not really trusting any food at Bucks unless he'd broken the seal himself. JD was leaving when Chris arrived, and stopped to chat a moment before heading out for an afternoon of gaming with his geek friends. Chris and Buck settled down on the ratty old sofa, and it might have been old times, with Buck providing play-by-play on the women the camera kept zooming in on, Chris trying to follow the game, and instead finding himself easily distracted by Buck's good-natured commentary.

But today even the Rockies were having a dull day, and the no-hitter ended with them down 2-1. Chris wasn't ready to head home to the empty house, just to sit around waiting for Vin to call, so he dropped a hint, and he and Buck walked around to the corner bar. All the way there, Buck raved about the margaritas and the barmaid. But instead of the buxom babe Buck had described, there was an aged, wrinkled man with thinning hair and crooked teeth. Buck sagged a little, but still bought the first round and carried them to a corner table, leaving Chris to collect a basket of chips and a bowl of salsa.

Buck was easy to be with, filling the booth with conversation, requiring only the occasional comment from Chris to keep things rolling. When he finally left to use the john, Chris drifted, almost but not quite unconscious of his hand wandering up to tease his earring, spinning it easily in the long-healed hole, remembering when it had been new and tender, and even then it had seemed to have a direct connection to his cock. Would Vin feel the same? More?

He jumped and jerked his hand down when Buck slapped his back, then jumped again when Buck flicked his earlobe with one long thin finger. "How is it, anyway? I knew this girl once--Debby? Deirdre? Dani?--I dunno, she was a couple of years ahead of me in college, but willing to train a younger man up right, if you know what I mean." Yeah, Buck, Chris thought, say no more. But then he did, and Chris was suddenly riveted. "She had both her nipples done as well as...down there. You know? And boy was she wild! All I had to do was touch it, and she was..." Buck managed to restrain himself as the buxom young barmaid, apparently just on shift but knowing her good customers when she saw them, perched on his lap, smiling absently across at Chris before loosing her high wattage on Buck. Buck was momentarily diverted, and it was a really good thing, because it gave Chris an opportunity to slide his glass, containing only the icy dregs of his margarita, under the table to press against his suddenly hard dick. He rested it there for what seemed like minutes, praying for the reaction to fade. He'd only had to hear that certain tone in Buck's voice, see the vague hand gesture, and Chris's vivid imagination just filled in the rest, to an embarrassingly inevitable result.

It did fade, however slowly, and Chris managed to slip the glass back on to the table, with no one the wiser. Suzanne, as she was introduced, promised them another round, and moved off with a flirtatious sway of her hips. Buck watched appreciatively, until her best assets were obscured by the bar. Fortunately, the lovely Suzanne seemed to have shoved Buck's brain into another track, and he didn't go back to questioning Chris about his earring. He hadn't discussed it with the guys, even though JD had given him a bit of an odd look when Chris was still wearing the earring on day thirty-two after the bet. Chris had decided to ignore the whole thing, and led by example. If Vin had talked about it, Chris didn't know, and didn't want to know. Probably not, though, if only because he'd take his lead from Chris.

Sometime later--Chris thought he ought to be able to read the clock, but it was just so damned fuzzy--JD wandered in, and that was cause enough to order yet another round of margs. Chris kinda thought it might not be the best idea, especially since he wasn't sure he could account for the last round, but hey, they were having fun, and he hadn't thought of Vin in at least the last half hour. Whoops.

JD seemed incredibly entertained to watch his elders so plastered they could barely sit up, and laughing for once at his moronic jokes. The bar had filled up and gotten noisy, but that was no challenge for Buck Wilmington, he could out-shout half the drunks in Denver. There was a juke box in the corner, playing some ridiculous combination of country-western and Mariachi music, and Chris found himself trying to identify the newest tune, when JD said, "Phone."

Phone? That didn't make any sense. "Chris, your phone is ringing." His phone? Really? He was feeling haphazardly at his pockets, when JD let out an exasperated sigh, and slid a way-too-intimate hand down Chris's backside, coming up with his cell-phone and answering it. "Hey, Vin!" the kid greeted, smiling widely and stepping back as Chris waved an unsteady hand in his direction, trying to recover the phone. "Yeah, he's here, but he's drunk off his ass, are you sure you want to talk with him? I'm sober, and I haven't heard from you all week. Have you done the weapons demo yet?" Chris looked across to Buck for support, but found him once more eyeing Suzanne, who'd kept them plied with drinks all evening. Yeah, she knew her mark, all right. JD finally handed the phone back, and Chris managed to clear his brain enough to identify which end to speak into.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hey, cowboy." Vin's voice was soft and amused, almost too soft to hear in the loud bar; Chris staggered to his feet, and managed to make his way out into the balmy Denver evening. "You having a party without me?" Vin didn't sound disappointed though, more concerned.

"Jus me 'n' Buck, having a night out," he answered. "Rockies lost. Drowning our sorrow." He trailed off into giggles after that, because Vin knew he'd never given a damn about baseball anyway, and only watched it when forced by social circumstances. Or loneliness. "Miss you," he offered.

"Don't sound like you're sober enough to remember your own name, much less mine, Larabee. You better not be driving tonight." Vin let a little bit of steel enter his voice with the warning, and it warmed Chris. Having people who cared whether you ended up wrapped around a telephone pole made a difference.

"Naw, we walked, and I'll prob'ly just crash on the sofabed. Got some clothes in the locker at work, I think. How 'bout you?" He knew Vin hated the whole conference fuss, and the suburban motel was driving him batty. If he hadn't managed to find a running trail along the Potomac, Chris suspected that not even the promise of cool weapons would have kept him there. But a daily run, and a daily phone call seemed to be keeping him on a relatively even keel.

"'m doin' okay. Saw a pair of anhinga this morning, down by the river." Chris made an inquiring noise, pretending he had a clue if an anhinga was animal, vegetable or mineral. "They's watching a nest. I haven't seen one since I left Texas. Kinda like a cormorant, but longer neck." Birds? Vin was a birder? Sarah's mother had been a birder, and it had been one thing--maybe the only thing--that Chris and Hank Connelly had ever agreed on. Bird-watching was a ridiculous hobby.

"Where you been hiding your secret subscription to Audubon, Vin?"

"Pull in your horns, Chris, 'less you want me to start in on your pile of hand-tied flies that're gathering dust out in the shed."

Chris loved those flies, loved tying them, loved their bright colors and intricate shapes. And he was going to use them. Soon. Really. "Okay, I won't if you wont." And then, because he wanted to hear more of Vin's voice, but seemed to have run out of meaningful thoughts in his head, he prompted, "Tell me 'bout your birds."

"Nope. You laughed at me, you don't get no bird stories," Vin taunted. "'sides, it's past my bed time." Chris looked down at his watch, but it was pretty blurry. He thought it might be 8 o'clock. Unless it was ten past six and his watch was upside down. At any rate, he wanted to keep the connection, however slight, and however little he seemed to be able to contribute to the conversation.

"Talk to me, Vin," he blurted out. Well, he did manage to add, "Please."

Vin chuckled, and then took pity on him, chatting along in a way that wasn't his style, drifting from topic to topic easily, diverting Chris's impaired brain and warming his heart. The cell phone interrupted finally, beeping insistently as the battery began to fade.

"Gotta run, Vin, before the battery goes."

"Night, cowboy. You let Buck take care of you, okay?" Buck had way too much practice at that, but Chris would try his best to make it easy on him.

"Will do. Night, Vin. Love you." Only after he'd hung up did Chris realize neither one of them had mentioned the nipple ring once. Not tonight, not last night. It was almost like an open secret between them, too explosive too touch. And maybe it was. Chris certainly didn't want a replay of his earlier response out here in the open, where anyone would be free to admire his impressive hard-on in response to even the *idea* of Vin Tanner pierced and bejeweled.

Shaking the thought out of his head, Chris turned back inside, only to almost trip on JD, who was leading a seriously slanted Buck Wilmington out of the bar. He wedged a shoulder under Buck, and between them, he and JD steered him home. JD was the perfect host, well, perfect for friends who were headed for nasty hangovers. He left Chris with a large bottle of water and a pile of aspirin, before assisting Wilmington up the stairs to the loft bedroom. Chris didn't even unfold the sofa, just lay down, guzzled about half the water, and dropped into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Monday started off with a bang. Literally. Chris leapt about three feet straight up, looked wildly for his gun, and only slowly processed the annoyed cursing from the loft bedroom as Buck's voice. He sounded pissed but, as higher brain function returned, Chris was pretty sure there wasn't actually any immediate physical threat. Well, Buck might injure himself walking into another wall. He heard the shower already running; JD was no fool. Chris's challenge would be to beat Buck in after him, or else deal with the cold water. At least the kid had been kind enough to start a pot of coffee. Chris poured a cup and positioned himself to slip in as soon as the door opened. He made it, and slammed the door in Buck's face, prompting another round of swearing.

They drove separately to the office, Chris stopping along the route for a bagel and a fruit smoothie, because he couldn't face Buck's toaster-snack breakfast on his uneasy stomach. Once he hit the office, he couldn't ignore his voice mail light blinking insistently. All three messages were from Travis's secretary, and Chris looked at his watch; it wasn't even nine o'clock yet. It wasn't going to be a good day.

By noon, the remaining members of Team Seven had all been drafted to support Team Five in closing their current case. Wattney would wait, according to Travis, though Chris had strongly disagreed. Shortly after sunrise, in what they'd expected to be a routine search, Rob Evans' team had stumbled on a weapons depot. They'd arrested half a dozen low-level employees, and were interrogating them separately, before they could get their stories straight. Team Seven was interfacing with the techs on-site, collecting and reviewing the forensics reports, cataloging the site photos and video, and JD was running some computer search that Chris didn't even understand. He'd stood right there while Melissa had given JD the specs, and they'd seemed to understand each other; Chris gave up trying.

By eight p.m., when his cell phone chirped, Chris was ready to throw the infernal thing through his office window. But the caller ID showed a 703 area code: northern Virginia. Chris answered, getting up to push the door closed, making sure the blinds were tightly shut, and pushing the "do not disturb" button on his desk phone. "Hey," he greeted.

"Hey," Vin answered. "Are you still in the office at this hour?" It was just a question, not an accusation, and Chris filled him in on Team Five's windfall, and the resulting chaos that had ensued. Chris had sent Nathan and Josiah home earlier, and Buck had left for a date, but JD was still hunched over his keyboard, typing maniacally, and Chris was sorting through piles of paper, looking for the key that would link the ownership of the building, the so-far resistant employees, and the Soviet-era Russian weapons. He hadn't found anything yet, and his eyes were starting to blur without the benefit of tequila.

"How 'bout you?" Chris turned the tables, while closing folders and straightening stacks, making a semblance of order where none truly existed.

"Had a good day. Got to test the guns. Guess they didn't want me to get up in front of everyone tomorrow and make an ass of myself." Vin was downplaying it, but Chris could tell he'd had fun.

"Anything we're interested in?" Vin had been hot to try a couple of new sniper weapons, meant to bridge the gap between the industry standard Remington 700 PSS and the high-end custom weapons that--no matter how convincing Vin's pleas--Uncle Sam was never going to shell out the cash for.

"I fired about fifty rounds through the SSG-PII. It's a mighty nice rifle. Dead accurate." Chris could hear the satisfaction in Vin's voice. He shrugged into his jacket, and switched off his lights, closing the door to behind himself. "Doesn't work and play well with others, though. Can't add cool after-market goodies, like night-vision or third-party scope rings. But, man, it was fun to play with." Chris walked up, quietly, and tried to make sense of the gibberish on JD's computer monitor. He could see the kid's face reflected in the glass, with lines of tension etched between his brows. They'd all been at this far too long.

"Hey, Vin, tell JD to go home and get some sleep." Chris watched the kid jump at his voice, and held out the phone to JD's ear. He took it, and smiled in response to whatever Vin said, nodding and reaching out to close his program.

"'kay, Vin. Yeah, we're the last ones. Too stupid to go home, I guess." JD shut the computer down as Chris watched, and grabbed his own jacket and his motorcycle helmet. Chris shook his head, and placed the helmet back on the desk. If JD was half as tired as Chris was, he didn't need to be climbing on that rice rocket tonight.

"I'll give you a lift," he mouthed, while JD continued to smile and nod at Vin through the phone. Chris dropped an arm around his shoulder and steered him toward the elevators, nodding at the cleaning guy as he came in, emptying the waste baskets and pushing a mop bucket.

"Yeah, he's right here." JD looked up at Chris, still grinning. "Yeah, me too. Can't wait to see you... Wednesday? Okay, see you then. Bye." He handed the phone back to Chris, and pressed the elevator call button.

"You still there, Vin?" Chris asked.

"Yeah. I'll be up for a while, you wanna call me back." Oh, yeah. The idea of sharing the long drive home with Vin, not quite the same as having him sitting next to him in the truck, but as close as Chris was gonna get until Wednesday...

"Yeah, I'll do that. If you'll really be up?" If Chris was this tired, in his time zone, maybe he ought to let Vin off the hook.

"I'll be waiting for your call, cowboy." The phone beeped, ending the call, and then the elevator chimed, opening the doors. He and JD boarded in companionable silence. They chatted about the case on the way home, and JD spent a few minutes speculating on Buck's romantic exploits, but Chris was just as happy to drop him safely at the loft, making the turns to enter the freeway before dialing Vin's motel.

"Hey," he said softly. "Long time, no speak." Vin chuckled, then fell silent. Chris listened to his breathing, and the static on the line. "I miss you, y'know," he finally said.

"Yeah, me too. Next time, you come with me, okay?" Oh, man, wouldn't that be great? He and Vin away for ten days together, on Uncle Sam's dime. Of course, they probably wouldn't actually make it to any of the conference sessions.

"It's only three months till fall," he said wistfully. They'd filed for two weeks of leave in September, though they hadn't yet agreed how to spend it. Chris was thinking of a nice little bed and breakfast down on the Gulf Coast. Vin wanted to go trail riding along the Continental Divide before the first snows.

"Only forty-two hours till my plane lands." There was a hint of evil teasing in Vin's soft voice.

Damn. Now that Team Five's arms bust had blown wide open, the leave that Chris had put in for would be moot. They were needed. Sometimes being irreplaceable was a pain in the ass.

"Chris? You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Just wishing..." What? Wishing not to have to work? Or to not be the best at their jobs? No, they were both too driven for that. Wishing...

"Yeah, me too." Wordless, thousands of miles apart, and they were still in tune. The distance was an ache that wouldn't be eased soon enough. And because he couldn't bear to sit with that truth, Chris started talking, aimlessly, about the ranch, the horses, the strip that Nettie had promised to tear out of Vin's hide for leaving town without giving her a chance to see him off.

"I lied to her about when you were coming back, or so don't call her before Friday, okay?" She'd offered to pick Vin up, and Chris had assured her that it wasn't necessary. What was the point of being the boss if you couldn't sign yourself out a little early to beat the traffic out to DIA? "Vin?" Chris wondered if he'd managed to put Vin to sleep with his pointless ramblings.

"'Yeah? M'here." He sounded a little odd, fuzzy.

"I can let you go to bed. 'M almost home anyway."

"No!" Vin's reply was short and sharp, and more energetic than Chris had expected. Chris listened for clues, wondering what had changed, but only picked up Vin's breathing, a little harsher and louder than it had been earlier. "No, that's okay," Vin reassured, "I ain't sleepy yet. G'wan and tell me whatcha been up to."

What, since a half hour ago, he thought, when I filled you in on the day? He was puzzling this out, when Vin whispered, almost inaudibly over the cell, "Chrissss." The hiss gave him away, and Chris didn't know whether to laugh out loud, get pissed off, or pull over to the side of the road and join him. His cock was definitely voting for the choice behind door number three.

"Vin. Tell me you're not..." But he was, and if he denied it, Chris wouldn't believe him anyway. "Vin?"

"Aww, cowboy, don't go ruinin' my fun here," his laugh was filthy, now that the cat was out of the bag. So to speak.

"Just seems a little unfair, what with me driving seventy down the freeway and unable to join in, you know?"

"Ain't my fault you're a workaholic. I tried you at home first, y'know?"

Chris cursed his lack of a stupid, safety-promoting hands-free device for his cellphone. Between one hand on the phone, and one on the wheel... His dick was aching and his own breathing getting short and sharp. He blinked away a mental picture of Vin sprawled naked across the bed of a dingy motel room, and forced himself to concentrate on the road ahead. If he drove his truck into the center divider, he'd have a hard time explaining himself.

"Takes cell-phone distraction to an all-new level, Tanner," he grunted, and tried to think cold, icy thoughts.

"Maybe you better pull over then. Wouldn't want to contribute to traffic statistics. Won't take but a minute..." And it wouldn't. He could tell from his voice that Vin was close, and damn if that wasn't all it took to bring Chris up hard and hot. He hadn't even touched himself yet, and he thought he might lose it right there, in the high-speed lane.

"'Kay, give me a minute, Vin." And then, because he really did want Vin to wait, and because it just felt fun to push the limit, he put some steel into his voice. "Vin. Don't touch until I say so."

Vin hissed sharply in surprise. They hadn't played games like that, hadn't really had the time. When they got together, they tended to go up like fireworks. Oh, there were some slow, steady explorations, but hey, the whole striptease thing the night of the bet had been as out-there as they'd gotten. But Chris had been thinking, imagining, watching the way Vin sometimes arched into his grip. There was something there to be explored, something about power, control, strength. "Vin?" he questioned, a little sharply.

"Roger that," Vin gasped. "Not touching."

"Just for a minute," Chris reassured. He was already pulling over to the side, into a turnout that would give him a little cover from the roadway. He checked it carefully for other travelers, and then parked and cut the lights. The summer twilight filtered through the overhanging branches of an oak, mottling the cab with purplish light. Chris undid his seatbelt, and then his belt and pants, and eased his hand inside.

"Chris? You still there?"

"Oh yeah," he said with a chuckle, "I'm here. And now you have my full attention." He grasped himself gently, just easing the ache a bit, still hampered by needing one hand for the phone. "Tell me what you're wearing." It was clichéd, but Chris really did want to know, wanted that mental picture back again.

"Nothin'. Well, a towel. Took a shower after the range, tried to call you at home, but you weren't there, so then I tried you on the cell. Wasn't expecting you to hand it off to JD, though." Vin laughed quietly. "Think he might be shocked?"

"You better not tell him, Buck would never let him live it down." Chris set the mental picture of Vin, hair and hips wrapped in matching motel towels, sprawled across a garishly patterned bedspread. "You hard?"

"Now that's a dumb question, pard."

"But you're still not touching, right?" Vin wouldn't lie about that, would he?

"Right. But if you don't get this show on the road, I'm gonna hang up and take care of business myself, Larabee." Chris thought there probably wasn't much truth in the threat, but he wasn't planning to test it right now.

"Okay. Okay. But I want you to do something for me first. Okay, Vin?" Would he? Could Chris ask him? He squeezed his own dick hard, trying to ease back from the edge a bit.

"Depends. If it includes coming down this phone line and killing you, I just might."

"I want you to touch the nipple ring. Tell me how it feels, what it does to you. Tell me how it's gonna feel when it's me touching it..." He paused then, because Vin groaned, soft and long.

"Yer killin' me here, Larabee." Vin was gasping again, barely getting the words out.

"Tell me, Vin." That hint of an order, just touching the tone of his voice.

"Yeah...yeah." Chris started stroking again, gently, in time with the gasps coming through the phone. "It's... still hurts a bit. Have'ta clean it with special soap. But it's like magic, Chris. Never felt anything like it. Never felt anything like you."

"Tell me more," Chris whispered when Vin fell silent.

"Like lightning. Like... I dunno. Flashes through me, so hard."

"Okay, Vin, slide your hand down to your cock. Know that I'm doing the same thing. That we're together in this." He grasped himself more firmly again, his body arching and rocking, envisioning Vin, feeling the rhythm, knowing they were in synch.

"Oh, yeah, Chrissss." It was that same hiss that had given Vin away at first, and it sent the same shiver down Chris's spine, and now it was his own breathing that was short and labored, his strokes growing short and sharp.

"Yes, yes, yes," he heard himself gasping, driving himself and Vin higher, feeling the wave building up, until he was arching hard into his own grasp.

Vin's soft cry of, "Oh, Lord" sent him over, and the climax grabbed Chris and shook him hard, over and over, until the phone slipped from his nerveless fingers. He continued to thrust, his body jerking and spurting, until he collapsed back bonelessly onto the seat. He just sat there, still, for a few seconds as the last of the orgasm washed through him. And then he remembered Vin. The phone. Where was it? He felt around behind him, down the side of the door, and finally found it on the floorboard. The connection was still open, and from the sound of Vin's harsh breathing, Chris hadn't been missed. He listened in silence for a moment, savoring the connection, the intimacy. Vin Tanner's trust was prize few people had earned. Chris was blessed in so many ways. He waited for Vin to break the silence.

"Hey, cowboy. You still there?" Again, Chris had no trouble picturing the satisfied grin that would split Vin's face in the moments after orgasm.

"Yeah, Vin. Still here. Haven't been arrested for public indecency yet, neither." That elicited another low chuckle.

"Thanks, Chris."

As if thanks were needed between them. "The pleasure was all mine. Trust me." They laughed together at that, and then chatted a few more minutes as Vin got ready for bed, and Chris buttoned himself up and pulled back out into the late evening traffic. The dialogue bore a pretty strong resemblance to any conversation they would have had at home, lights and locks and toothpaste and plans for the morning. And then there would only be one more night. Geez, they were like schoolkids with a crush. Or newlyweds. It didn't matter, as long as Vin got his ass back soon, and Chris had his way with that ass, and the rest of him. He wished Vin a good night, was cautioned to drive safely, and then, finally, they let the connection go.

* * *

Chris woke up in a great mood, anticipating Vin's return, only to have his frame of mind destroyed by Bob Edwards of NPR, reminding him that it was still Tuesday. By the time he hit the office, he could already feel his head starting to throb. And when he found his e-mail overflowing with requests for conclusions his team couldn't even begin to draw from incomplete data... He looked around the bullpen, aching for something to bitch about, but fairness and the ghost of Vin Tanner interceded; the guys hadn't done anything to deserve his temper, but damn if there wasn't someone, somewhere who had, and Chris was gonna find that person. And then he was gonna let them have it with both barrels, 'cause he shouldn't be alone feeling like this. He closed the door firmly, resisting the urge to slam it, and picked up the phone.

By noon he'd shared the wealth with Travis, with Ann Johnson in forensics, and with Rob Evans, who shoved it right back at him--not that Chris had expected anything else. Buck dragged him out for lunch, insisted on buying him a vodka martini, and listened to him vent for twenty-five minutes about the stupidity of all bureaucracy. God, the man was a better friend than Chris deserved. Altogether, it was enough to get him through the afternoon, and Chris didn't resist when Nathan subtly suggested he leave at a reasonable hour. He expended some energy around the yard and the barn, enjoying the bright summer evening, before going inside to reheat some leftover enchiladas and wait for Vin's call.

He had to wait for another hour and a half, almost midnight DC time, before the phone rang. He was quick to snatch it up, and even quicker to pick up on Vin's well-oiled state. "Hey, cowboy..." Vin trailed off into giggles, and ended up snorting noisily into the phone.

"Guess I don't have to ask how you are, eh, Vin?" Chris had to smile though. Vin was mostly a happy drunk; the occasions when Chris had seen him turn morose were few, and only in the safety of one of their homes.

"Me 'n' the boys, we went out after the demo, hit some clubs..." Chris could hear the rustling of fabric in the background, imagined Vin heeling off his shoes, and then stripping out of the chinos that were as far up the dress code as he'd go, and then only for something officious like this conference.

"Sounds like you hit them pretty hard. Better drink yourself a gallon of water, or they're likely to hit back in the morning."

"Awww. Y'worried 'bout me, Chris?"

"Nah. Worried 'bout you staying out of lockup long enough to board that plane home. Think you can manage that for me?" The conference only ran a half-day tomorrow, then Vin was booked on a 2:20 pm flight out of Washington-Dulles. He was scheduled to land in Denver at 4:04. Chris told himself it was little enough to ask.

"Oh, yeah," even drunk and sleepy, Vin managed to infuse that with a heat that sent a shiver down Chris's spine. "Can't wait to see you, Chris."

He heard Vin's yawn through the phone, and chuckled softly. "Me neither, cowboy. You get your ass back here in one piece."

"Aye, aye, Captain Bligh."

"Vin?" Chris asked, when the silence went on a little long.

"Uh, yeah?" Chris could tell he was out on his feet. Wasn't surprising. He'd probably been on the range for at least four hours, then debriefing, and then a night out on the town.

"Go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Kay. Night, Chris." He wasn't drunk enough to make smooching noises over the phone, and for that Chris was grateful.

"Night, Vin. Love you."

"Me too." The click was soft, and Chris sat alone in the den, listening to the sounds of the house, imagining it filled again with Vin's life and presence. And then he locked up and went to bed.

* * *

Morning came earlier than Chris anticipated, thanks to his blaring phone.

"Larabee," he grunted, pushing upright and rubbing at his eyes until he could read the dial on the bedside clock. Five a.m. Damn. These were never good.

It took him several crucial seconds to identify Rob Evans jabbering way too fast for his sleeping brain to comprehend. By the end of the 45-second phone call, he'd managed to determine that something was going down, and that his team was needed for backup. Did the man never do anything by the light of day? Chris stumbled into jeans -- if he was going operational, the suit was a waste of time -- and felt his way to the microwave to nuke yesterday's stale coffee. Once he was in the truck and on the road, he called Buck, Nathan, and finally Josiah.

"Morning, Chris. Isn't this a little early?" Damn the man for sounding perky at 5:30 a.m.

"Yeah, take it up with Evans," he grunted. "We've got to scramble, they've got something going down."

"You got any details?" Yeah, that would be a fine thing, but too much to ask of his sorry brain at this hour and before his third cup of coffee.

"Gimme a break, Josiah. I'll see you at the office. I swear, I'll have the full rundown by then." He did his best to ignore the low rumble of Sanchez's laugh as he cut the connection. He dialed Evans again, hoping to retain a few more details this time.

By the time he hit the office, Nathan and Josiah were already there. And there was coffee, thank god. From the looks of things, JD had never left. When Buck arrived, both teams gathered in the conference room. Chris let Evans take the lead in the briefing.

It wasn't scheduled to be a big op, but after the last one--meant to be a visual only--had yielded the weapons and the still-silent employees, Evans wasn't going to take any chances. JD had found a link last night, after Chris had left the office, and apparently he and Melissa had been on it all night long. For damn sure, they both looked that way. The owner of the warehouse had a girlfriend. Nothing special there, and she wasn't either, a middle-aged, widowed homemaker who'd once been beautiful, and retained enough of her looks to shine from the badly-lit surveillance photo. But that wasn't the catch; the girlfriend had a son, and the son had a partner, and between them, the son and his partner had some pretty amazing toys for twenty-somethings with no apparent source of income. There had to be someone else, someone with money to buy weapons like those they'd found, but Evans was hoping that the son, Glen Davenport, or his buddy, whose real name they were still trying nail down, would roll over on the financier. It had to be someone pretty big, to pay the kind of wages that would keep frightened people silent for three days.

"The kid, Davenport, has an apartment over his mother's garage." Evans showed them a map, and some grainy, night-shot photos of the place. "We've been watching it since two a.m., when Roche and Dunne made the connection." He gave a polite nod, and credit to their youngest agents. "As far as we know, he's still in there, and we don't want to give him a chance to slip away."

Evans laid out the operations plan for them. He wasn't stupid, he'd tasked both Melissa and JD to relieve the surveillance team and free them up for more active duty. The youngsters groused a bit, but couldn't deny that, without an hour of sleep between them, they'd be a liability if things did get out of hand.

"Wilmington, I'd like to have you on the advance team." Evans turned his gaze from Buck to Chris. "If you don't mind?" It was a courtesy, not to put another team's agents in harm's way without asking.

It wouldn't be a big deal, and Buck looked like he'd like the job. But damn, he felt like spending a little adrenaline this morning. "I'll do it." Evans looked a little surprised, but nodded, and the rest of his team followed his lead. Team Seven knew better than to mess with Chris when he was in a door-kicking mood. But Buck did nudge him on the way out the door.

"Gloryhound?" he teased, ruffling Chris's unwashed hair.

Chris elbowed him back, and pushed through, headed for the gear room. Once they were all set, Chris did a final check in with his team. They were locked and loaded, ready to roll. At the last minute before they climbed in vehicles, Buck grabbed him by the arm. He looked deeply into Chris's eyes for a second, and then just grinned, slapping his vest to make sure it was firmly fastened. "Go get 'em, tiger," he encouraged softly.

It was hurry up and wait once they surrounded the two-story wood-frame house in the tony suburb of Cherry Hills Village. Plainclothes DPD had evacuated the adjacent homes, just to be on the safe side, and everyone was in place and ready for the strike.

"Hold it!" Melissa Roche's soft call in every headset halted their advance.

The kids had managed to tap the phones, both land-line and cell; nothing they heard would be admissible, but they were listening for clues that would make the bust easier, safer, and maybe, also give them a hint of the identity of the boss. It was shady, but Chris met Rob Evans' eyes with a nod of respect. It was a move he would have ordered, if it were his op.

As they all held position, Melissa reported that the perp, Davenport, was awake, and nervous. He'd called someone--possibly his partner--to do a drive-by of the house, and let him know if anything looked weird.

Evans' voice was the next over the open band. "Everyone take cover. Roche, you keep a weather eye on things."

Various acknowledgments filtered in, as agents ducked for cover, which was a little hard to come by on a quiet neighborhood street. They all held that cover though, while JD replayed the section of tape where Davenport mentioned grenades and guns under his bed... Chris cursed silently, picturing the ugly scene that could develop all too swiftly. If the kid started shooting, the outcome was inevitable; the only thing in question was how many casualties there'd be before the sun set. They still held their positions, Chris kneeling in dew-damp grass under the cover of a rhododendron bush, until Melissa reported all clear. He didn't have to ask to know that she and JD would be all over the trace, trying to ID the partner--assuming that's who he was--from both his phone number and his license plate.

At Evans' order, Chris and Jerry Stevens crept as silently as they could up the stairs, guns ready. Jerry stood poised behind the door as Chris crouched low, reaching out to test the knob: locked. Evans, stationed at the bottom of the stairs with a view of the whole yard, called roll, and then gave the count: "On five, four, three, two, one. Go, go, go!"

Bracing himself back against the railing, out of the line-of-sight of the windows, Chris grinned and kicked in the flimsy hollow-core door. It slammed back against the wall with a bang, clearly startling the young man standing in the makeshift kitchen, his unbuttoned jeans riding low on his ass, revealing way more of faded plaid boxers than Chris really felt was necessary. "ATF!" He and Jerry yelled it together, sweeping the room with their guns. For all his surprise, the kid responded quickly, flinging his mug of hot coffee at Jerry, and darting for a door at the back that Chris figured probably hid the bathroom.

"He's on the run!" Chris reported into his headset, following. Jerry dodged the flying coffee, so Chris beat him to the door, wedging his foot in before the kid could slam it shut. Not before he managed to slam it on Chris's foot, and he wished for the steel-toed shoes of his beat days. The kid faded back though, and Chris managed to shove the door open in time to see the ass well framed in the bathroom window as the kid tried to slide out head first. "Window at the back!" he called, even as talk erupted in his ear. Nathan had spotted the kid's opposite end from his perimeter position.

Chris wasn't done yet, goddammit, and he grabbed the kid's legs and leaned back hard. Bracing against the wall below the window, he used both weight and leverage, and slowly dragged the kid back up. Davenport clung desperately to the window frame for a minute, then popped free, and they both went sprawling. The kid momentarily had the top position, and Chris found himself flat on his back on the filthy linoleum. Davenport obviously didn't have the brains God gave a gnat, 'cause he promptly landed an elbow in Chris's gut and tried to fight his way back into the main room. Stevens was looming in the doorway though, and Chris managed to grab an ankle, sending the kid sprawling again. It felt good, just for a moment, to struggle, climb on top, and damn well make things happen the way he wanted them to. Chris flipped the kid on his stomach and planted a knee in his back, twisting his arms up and cuffing him a little more enthusiastically than might be absolutely necessary.

"Way to go, Larabee!" Stevens laughed heartily, and reached out to haul the perp to his feet, pulling him out into the main room and then, if sound was any indicator, shoving him hard up against the wall to be searched.

"Got him secured," Chris remembered to report. He rose and followed, bouncing a little on his toes, adrenaline still flowing swiftly in his bloodstream. He made sure that Stevens had the perp well in hand, and reported the details to Evans, who confirmed, and then ordered the rest of his team up to perform the preliminary search and photographic survey. Nodding as they came in, Chris propped open the door where it hung askew on its one remaining hinge, and jogged out onto the porch.

"Team Seven," he broke through the radio chatter. "Roll call." He paused on the balcony to survey the surrounding scene, nodding as each agent checked in, okay to leave his position, and gathered at the rear of the newly arrived surveillance van. He collected a confirming nod from Josiah, a pouty grin from Buck who hadn't gotten to kick anything, much less wrestle with a troublesome young criminal. Nathan already had his head bent over something that JD was showing him, and Melissa was just leaning against the back of the van, smoking one of her sweet-smelly clove cigarettes.

By the time Chris joined the little crowd, Evans was there, too, chatting with Melissa who had dumped her cigarette, but still stank of it. Chris listened silently to both conversations. JD and Melissa were reporting basically the same information,

"Cell phone... Phillip French... post office box... Marjorie French..." They had an address for a Marjorie Jane French, not more than ten minutes away. It would fit.

Chris checked in with Rob Evans, then called Travis to report their status, finally passing his cell to JD to fill in the details they'd need for a warrant for the partner's house. Or what they hoped was the partner's house. Now the action was finished, Chris noticed suddenly the churning emptiness in his gut. Nothing but coffee, and that far too long ago. Glancing up the tree-lined suburban street without a hope in hell of spotting a McDonalds, his gaze crossed Buck's and caught. Grinning silently, Buck jerked his chin toward the Ram; Chris nodded. Who knew how long they'd be stuck here, a little breakfast and god, some more coffee, would make things a damn sight more pleasant.

When Buck returned with a bag of breakfast burritos and a dozen cups of coffee, they were still hanging around, in much the same positions: Team Five still cataloging the upstairs, the DPD packing up and preparing to leave, and the rest of Team Seven standing around, waiting for their next move. Buck generously passed food around to his friends, and then handed the rest to Melissa, who grimaced, and carried it up to her own teammates. Something about the width of his grin made Chris suspect... "How deep did you dig into my emergency fund?" he asked, when Buck dropped down next to him in the doorwell. Wilmington just grinned mysteriously. He'd have to find a new place to hide the stash.

Chris bit into the burrito a little nervously, but it was warm and tasty, and he found himself wolfing it down. The coffee was hot and strong, and burned its way down his gullet, bringing him back to an attention level that approximated his adrenaline high of forty minutes ago. He heard his cell ring distantly, and realized that JD still had it. He stuck out his hand, and it magically appeared; Travis's phone number appeared on the display.

"Larabee," he answered briefly.

"Chris, your warrant is in the works. The judge is reviewing the materials now, do you want it sent over to the site?" That would make it easy, cut down on the opportunity for Mr. French, if that's who he was, to develop a case of itchy feet.

"Yeah, thanks. You want I should hang on to the police? They're packing out as we speak." On one hand, they were a very nice security blanket, to hold the perimeter and keep civilians out of the line of fire. On the other hand, they didn't enjoy playing second-banana to the ATF, and Chris was aware of the kind of workloads they were carrying, that weren't getting their due as they stood around someone else's crime scene, waiting for something to happen.

"I'll leave that to your judgment; you're on-site. But let me know beforehand if you plan on kicking in any more doors. You could just try knocking the next time, you know." Chris didn't figure that even merited a reply, so he kept silent. "Just keep me posted, okay, Chris?"

"Yeah, you got it, sir." It wasn't too much to ask, even if it wasn't strictly Chris's job. This was a Team Five op, and Evans should be handling the sort of admin/comms stuff that came with it. But, hey, if a little assistance from Chris--or JD for that matter--made the case, it would be good to get these assholes off the street. He hung up the phone, and lifted his head, subtly drawing all eyes his way. "We've got a warrant on the way, for French's place. Let's pack up, and I'll see if I can pry those Team Five bozos free up there. We'll try to catch him before he gets a clue we've picked up Mr. Davenport." He collected nods in reply, and then jogged back up the stairs.

Team Five was lounging on Davenport's ratty old sofa, finishing up their breakfast. Chris reported the results of the conversation with Travis, and their prospects for a warrant to be delivered. "You up for a little trip?" he asked Rob directly.

"Hoo yah, let's go. I think we've got what we need, but I'll send the forensics crew back later to see if we've missed anything. He's our guy." Evans nodded at a pile of C4 bricks, without the assorted wires and magnetic detonators that would transform them into deadly force. There was also a rifle and a couple of handguns; they were about the right vintage, but looked as if they hadn't been properly cleaned in years.

Chris surveyed the room, empty except for the other agents. "Where's the perp?" He hadn't been that distracted, to miss them hauling a handcuffed man down the stairs and into a car for booking.

"Wouldn't shut up. Locked him in the john," Jerry contributed. "Cuffed him to the pipes, just to make sure he don't try that window move again."

Chris grinned tightly, and jerked his head toward the outside. "We'll be waiting, but not too long. You want to keep control on this one, you better move your asses." The rivalry among the SOG teams--for convictions and for total contraband seized--was friendly for the most part, but it never hurt to give the other guys a little motivation. Team Seven had come out top in both categories for two years running, and some of the other teams were starting to grumble about favoritism. It was bullshit; Chris knew first hand that their success had a lot more to do with hard work and his men's penchant for idiotic risk-taking. But the competition was tradition, and he didn't mind having something to brag about every now and then.

The morning was warming up quickly, headed for a high in the mid-eighties, and Chris could already feel the sweat running down the middle of his back from the damn vest. He couldn't imagine the cops these days, wearing them constantly. In his days on the force bullet-proof vests been a lot heavier and bulkier, and only used for the worst of situations. He and Buck had probably left the police at the right time, even if for tragic reasons. They still faced unreasonable risks on a weekly basis, but he told himself it was for a higher payoff; Chris shook his head to clear the image of Buck Wilmington hurt or killed while quieting a domestic disturbance. Irritated at the path his thoughts were taking, Chris shrugged, pulling at his damp T-shirt, trying to sop up some of the dampness, and wiped away a trickle of sweat from his neck. It was gonna be a long, hot day.

They caravanned over to Marjorie French's house, and waited down the block, well out of sight, for Travis's courier to bring them the warrant. Melissa had already phoned, confirming the Ms. French was in, and that she wasn't interested in changing her long distance service, no matter how good the rates were. Damn, if she weren't so great with the techie stuff, Melissa could be angling for an undercover spot. She was slick.

"Good morning. Are you Ms. French?" Evans was smooth and polite, with a potential innocent in range, but the agents crouching in the front hedge were ready to strike, if needed.

Their headsets, designed for intra-team communications, were too directionally focused to pick up the other side of the conversation, but Evans did a pretty good job of feeding back Ms. French's information, so everyone was kept in the loop.

"You do have a younger brother named Phil."

"Is he home now?" Chris tensed in anticipation, then let himself relax slightly when the answer was negative.

"Extra shift at work, eh?" Evans kept a much more civil tone than Chris though the could have, when he asked if she thought it was odd he could afford a bunch of expensive electronics on his salary from McDonalds. Sure, since they had a warrant, they were welcome to see his room; it was at the back of the house. Yes, the gun was necessary, but hopefully just a formality. Evans reported the room was empty of life, and at first glance of any contraband. Chris stopped to wonder if maybe they were on the wrong trail after all. At Evans' word, everyone rose from cover and converged on the house. They'd do a thorough search, just to be sure, and then head back to the office to try to get something out of young Mr. Davenport.

There was a rustle in the bushes by the back porch. "We've got a runner," Buck yelled, as flash of denim and dark hair streaked toward the street. It was like old times to fall into step with Buck, pounding down the sidewalk after the fleeing kid, heart hammering with excitement and exertion.

"South on Fig, headed for Huntington," Chris panted into his radio; backup would follow, and it was only a matter of keeping the kid in sight, and keeping everyone informed. But then he cut sideways, into an alley, and disappeared like a lizard over a seven-foot cinderblock wall. Buck lengthened his stride a step or two, got there early, and in an unscripted but smooth move, offered Chris his cupped hands and hoisted him easily to the top of the fence. Chris looked down once, and Buck just waved him on, so he went.

The chase pounded on for another endless three minutes, with Chris providing the play-by-play, before his long runs with Vin started to pay off. He finally closed the distance, and took French down with a flying tackle. Momentum carried them across the sidewalk, toward the gutter and the main street, but Chris dragged them back at the last minute. His head jerked sideways under the force of a wild elbow, and slammed against the concrete, sending stars across his vision. But he retained his hold on the kid, until a large hand dropped on his shoulder, telling him to relax, and the kid seemed to rise straight up in the air. It was Josiah, of course, and he held the squawking kid at arms length for a moment, looking like he might just toss him out into traffic for all the trouble he'd caused. But then there were other people around, and Nathan was easing Chris up to sitting, waving fingers in front of his face, asking him questions that Chris was having a hard time hearing over the ringing in his ears.

Nathan made noises about the ER, while pressing a piece of gauze to the goose egg behind his ear, but Chris shook him off and pushed upright. He was fine; it was just a bump to the head. Nothing to worry about. His vision was clear now, and his hearing was settling back to its normal range. Josiah was still hanging on to the perp, who had lost most of his fight when the handcuffs snicked shut. Buck came pounding around the corner just as Team Five rolled up. He cast a dark glance at French, and then ran his eyes up and down Chris's body, checking the damage. Chris waved him off and pushed through the growing crowd to drop into the passenger seat of Nathan's Explorer. Josiah more-or-less gently shoved Mr. French into the back, and Nathan climbed in to start the engine. Chris didn't close his door yet, waiting for Evans, who was listening intently to Buck and then Josiah.

"You okay, Larabee?" he asked, when he finally came over, making a quick visual check.

Chris waved his concern away, and nodded toward the perp who was sulking in the back seat. "We'll take him down to the office, but I'll hold all questioning until you get there, Rob." Fair was fair, and Chris didn't need to add another case to his team's load. They were already three days behind on the Wattney surveillance, thanks to this mess. If he could extract his guys by the end of the day, and leave the wrap-up to Evans, maybe they'd be done with it, at least until the grand jury. No way they'd get out to testifying there. He collected a nod from Evans in response, and listened absently as Nathan read the kid his rights before pulling out.

Once they arrived at the federal building, Chris fantasized about breaking free for a shower and a change of clothes, but all he managed to do was ditch the vest and grab another cup of coffee before he and Evans went into debrief with Travis. When they emerged an hour later, JD was waiting with more background details on the two perps. They'd met at a local rave, less than a year ago, and didn't have any older connections that anyone could verify. It was good news, since it would limit their search, and bad news, because a new situation, a new distributor, might not be as solid a lead to the financier they were looking for, but hey, all of it was more than they'd known when Chris had left the office last night. On a hunch, Josiah had called in Davenport's mother, the warehouse owner's lady friend; she was apparently mortified to hear that her son had been arrested, and was on her way.

It was after noon before Mrs. Davenport arrived, and pushing one before they had the interrogation room set up with the video and audio recording. Evans had agreed to let Josiah do the honors, and he escorted the young man in, taking care to remind him of his rights to counsel, making sure that his refusal was duly recorded. They all watched through the one-way glass; the kid was still playing it tough, sassing Josiah and making like the young hard-ass he was. Chris felt the anger building in the silent woman next to him, and motioned her to follow him out of the viewing room. She'd been informed of the charges and the evidence against her son, but had been too stunned to even credit it. Now that she saw his behavior, she was obviously getting a ticket on the clue bus. She demanded to be let in to the interrogation room, and Chris couldn't have asked for more. He knocked, and when Josiah answered he whispered the situation. Sanchez nodded, and opened the door wider.

The response was precious. In the seconds before Josiah pulled the door shut, Chris saw recognition--and horror--sweep across the kid's face. Even young toughs have to answer to Mom sooner or later. The door swung shut, and Chris hurried back over to the viewing room; he didn't want to miss a minute of this, even if it was being videotaped. The guys were already snickering, and the microphones carried clearly Mrs. Davenport's furious scolding. She was even shaking her finger in the kid's face! Josiah just leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, obviously confident that there was nothing he could say or do that was going to be more effective than the anger of a disappointed mother. The kid was wringing his hands, dropping his head, practically digging his toe into the carpet, doing everything he could to avoid her piercing eyes. It was over in less than twenty minutes.

"You should have seen it, Buck!" JD, practically shivering from a double-dose of caffeine and adrenaline, on top of his sleepless night, was waving his hands and painting the scene. "Josiah wanted to offer her a job."

"Sounds like my kind of woman!" Buck's infectious laughter rolled through the bullpen.

"Aren't they all? But Mrs. Davenport got her kid to dump everything he knew. The arms trade, the warehouse, and the financier. And we got it all on tape!" As Chris turned away, Buck was physically restraining JD, who'd nearly tipped right off his rolling office chair.

Davenport had given them a pretty good statement. He put a lot of the responsibility on his friend, French, who'd convinced him that they could use the empty building with no-one being the wiser. Poor Mrs. Davenport was ashamed that her son had used her beau's property for illegal activities, and happy to provide a contact number for him in Paris, on the condition that she was permitted to speak to him first and apologize on her son's behalf. It was an easy enough concession to make. Mr. Ellis promised to be on a plane back to the US by Friday, and would be more than willing to answer any and all questions. The other leads the kid had given them put everyone on the phones, except for Evans and his second, Andre, who took what they'd gotten in to try to pry information out of French.

He was a little tougher, and started to make lawyering-up noises. But once he saw the videotape, he was more than ready to make a deal. It galled Chris--hell, all of them--to trade off the smaller fish for the big ones. But in reality, French wouldn't grow up to be a gun dealer without some pretty heavy support. Letting him go now would just free him up to get nailed for some other petty offense. And if he didn't have a mother as angry and determined as his friend's, he'd probably wind up doing serious time. It was only a matter of when.

But before the kid would pony up the information, they had to get an ADA down to the federal building to draw up the plea agreement, and sign everything off. Chris was just shaking her hand, thanking her for her efforts, and escorting her to the elevator, when his office phone rang. He knew he wasn't going to make it, but it would click over to voice mail. Wandering back through the bullpen, he stopped to look over Buck's shoulder at the preliminary report on his screen. Buck started to make some smart-ass comment, when Chris's cellphone rang, and he answered it absently. "Larabee."

"Hey, cowboy." The voice, usually soft and soothing, held an edge of irritation.

Chris froze. His eyes went unerringly to the clock in the lower right of Buck's screen, and read the damning truth: 4:30 pm. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Chris? You there?" Buck had turned now, taking in the look on Chris's face. He didn't know what it showed, but it was obvious enough that Buck went from there to the clock on the wall, and back to Chris with an expression that said so clearly no words were needed, *You are so screwed.* And he was. In the old Stapleton days, he could have been there in fifteen minutes, without even having to run code three. But the new international airport was hell and gone, and at this time of day even with lights and sirens he'd be lucky to get there in thirty minutes, and an hour was more likely.

"Damnit," he muttered, trying to figure some way out of this mess. He'd only been waiting for this hour to arrive for the last ten days, and all it took was some pissant kids with delusions of wealth to sidetrack his life. "Fuck."

"Guess that means you're still alive then," Vin said. "I'll try not to worry 'bout the fact that you *forgot me.*" He dropped his voice to a hiss that Chris knew wasn't entirely feigned.

"Uh, it's been a hell of a day around here," he knew it sounded lame, but the truth was all he could come up with.

"I can just grab a cab and head home. See you later?"

"No! I'll be there!" Buck urged him back into the elevator lobby and pressed the call button, waving away JD who was coming full-speed ahead with a report that needed to be signed. "Meet me outside baggage claim in thirty minutes, Vin, okay?" Geez, everything he'd planned, getting off early, being there to meet the plane, showing Vin how much he'd been missed. "Vin?"

"Yeah, I'll be there," he sounded disgusted, and hung up the phone before Chris could say anything else.

Chris shoved the phone into his pocket, and looked up into Buck's amused eyes. Buck pushed him inside and followed, pressing the button for the parking level. "Don't worry, stud, he'll forgive you. And I'll cover things here, no one will know you're gone." That wasn't as reassuring as it should be, but Chris didn't care right now. He patted his pockets, confirming that he had his keys and wallet, and tried not to jump when Buck slapped his ass and pushed him out toward the truck. "Hasta mañana, Chris." He was still standing in the open elevator door when Chris backed the Ram out, and waved jauntily before stepping back inside. Chris didn't wave back, and managed to restrain himself from turning on the lights and sirens until he hit I-70. With rush hour just starting, Chris cleared a path under false pretenses. Travis would kill him if he found out, so Chris would just have to make sure he never did.

Even speeding as he was, Chris gave some thought to how to make things up to Vin. This week hadn't been any easier on him than it had on Chris. They'd been looking forward to the homecoming since almost before Vin had left, and now Chris had blown it out of the water. He wanted to do something special, and have special things done to him. Spending an hour in the truck while Vin gave him the silent treatment wasn't at the top of his list. Just the thought of having Vin that close, feeling the heat of his body, and not being allowed to touch was tying Chris into anticipatory knots. He caught a stylized "M" on the horizon, and had a sudden fantasy of Vin sprawled across a wide bed against a picture-window backdrop of the Rocky Mountains--or where the mountains would be without the pervasive smog--or else resting in an oversize Jacuzzi tub, just waiting for someone to join him. It would put a dent in Chris's credit card, but nothing like the crater he was envisioning in his love life. And with a little effort, he could make it worth every penny.

He had to shut off the siren for the reservations clerk to be able to hear him, but he left the lights flashing, and didn't slow his charge down the freeway. She confirmed him into a suite on their executive floor, and he probably risked the lives of several commuters by fishing out his wallet and reading of his VISA number while driving at something over eighty. He was lucky no one pulled him over, and he made the turn into the airport just twenty-three minutes after pulling out of the parking garage: a new personal best. He killed the lights, but only slowed slightly as he maneuvered through the maze of rental car returns, departures and arrivals.

He saw Vin at the end of the terminal, duffel-bag over one shoulder, bright red shirt rolled up to his elbows and hanging loose outside his jeans. He was wearing a baseball cap with "FBI" blazoned on the front, and expensive wrap-around sunglasses. Chris eased in to the curb as a limo pulled away. Before he had a chance to climb out and greet him, Vin had pulled open the door, tossing his bag into the back and sliding onto the bench seat.

"Hey..." he greeted. "Welcome home." It was heartfelt, and Vin must have heard it, or he wasn't as pissed off as Chris would have been in similar circumstances, because he turned sideways, pulled off the mirror-shades, and offered a 1,000-watt smile.

"Hey, cowboy. You made good time." His eyes twinkled, and Chris thought Vin probably suspected how he'd made it out there so quickly, but he didn't actually bring it up. He did, however, drop his left hand open on the seat between them, an invitation to touch, and Chris took it, lifting it to plant a quick kiss in the palm, savoring the taste and smell of the man, and the carrier hum of connection that vibrated between them.

"I was motivated." He looked over his shoulder and pulled out into traffic, still holding Vin's hand in his lap. As wound up as Chris was, Vin was relaxed, dropping his head back, and gazing out at the horizon.

"So, what kept you so busy today that you left me standing?" Vin sounded a little more than casually curious, if for no other reason that he'd need to be up to speed on it tomorrow. Shoptalk seemed like a good filler, until they were in a position to move on to more intimate topics. Chris gave a quick run down of their morning, ending with a fair--if he did say so himself--impression of Mother Davenport teaching her son the error of his ways, leaving Vin in stitches. He made the story last until he turned in at the Marriott instead of getting on the freeway. Vin made a questioning noise; Chris only smiled mysteriously and kept driving. "Uh, Chris?" Vin questioned, as he pulled into the valet stand. "Don't you have a home not that far from here?"

"A little too far for my taste." Chris finally, reluctantly released Vin's hand to shift into park, and handed the keys to the valet. The bellman opened the door for Vin, while Chris snatched his up the duffel. They met at the front of the truck; Vin looked puzzled but not unhappy, and followed him through the large glass doors and into the high-ceilinged lobby. Chris registered quickly, and they caught the elevator up to the executive floor, where their key gave them access. While the suite did purport a mountain view, as Chris had surmised, the pollution made it moot. It was luxurious, though, with a large, open sitting room, a bed every bit as wide as the one in Chris's vision, and if not a Jacuzzi, at least a tub large enough to fit the two of them comfortably if they chose. There was a shower, too, that would easily accommodate company, if the mood took them.

Vin whistled in appreciation. "Guess you did miss me, after all." He bent over to examine the mini-bar, jeans pulling tight across his ass, reminding Chris again of just how much he'd missed him, then stood up with a couple of cold beers. "Want one?"

"Want this more." Chris moved in slowly, brushing aside the bottles, resting one hand at Vin's waist and running the other up under his hair to cup the back of his neck. He tilted his head, for a better angle and to avoid the hat brim, and leaned in slowly for a long, lingering kiss. Vin met him, tongue for tongue, and they played it, tasting, testing, exploring. It was heaven. He absently listened to the clink as Vin placed the bottles on the bar, then shivered as one chilled hand came around him, sliding inside his waistband and onto his skin. Vin's other hand was momentarily diverted by the clip at his belt, fumbling for a moment and then pulling free.

"Gotcha!" Vin whispered, then pulled away. Chris grabbed at his arm, not wanting to let go that soon, but Vin dodged it, waving his prize in triumph. It was Chris's cellphone, and even as he watched, Vin disassembled it, setting the battery down separately. The idea was simultaneously nerve-wracking and freeing. He wasn't officially on call, but everyone at the office pretty much trusted they could reach him if they had to. No one knew where they were, and... Vin took his own phone from his shirt pocket, and similarly disabled it. ...No one was going to find them without a lot of work.

His sabotage done, Vin stepped closer, pulling him back into a deep, slow kiss, both hands sliding down to massage his buttocks, drawing a low moan that surprised Chris, but only made Vin chuckle into his mouth. Finally, reluctantly, Chris pulled away. He couldn't resist any longer.

Cupping his hand, he let it hang in the air a bare inch from Vin's chest. "Show me," he urged. "I want to see it." He needed to know, to be reassured that Vin was ready, that the wound, however tiny, was healed enough for his attention. Vin colored a little, and then smiled; stepping back, he shrugged out of his red shirt, reaching crossed hands down to the hem of his tee, revealing dark sweat marks under his arms. He pulled it off smoothly, carefully until he'd cleared his chest, and then quickly the rest of the way, knocking off the cap in passing. His chest was nearly hairless, moderately tanned, and the white surgical tape across his nipple stood out sharply. Vin teased one corner up and carefully pulled it free, hissing a little as he revealed the promised addition. The light glinted on the silver hoop, and the dark blue bead complemented it, and Vin's eyes, beautifully.

Damn! Chris was suddenly reminded of Vin's heated response to his own--involuntary--decoration. It was something primal, powerful... He caught his breath sharply, and then reached out, again pausing that careful inch away. "Can I?" he asked, surprised when his voice came out a breathy whisper.

"Yep. Just be a little gentle, it ain't fully healed yet." Vin was watching him, and Chris was a little embarrassed at how much he wanted to touch it. It was weird to be this turned on by some*thing* instead of someone, even if the thing was on Vin. But when he flicked it, watched as it rotated, pulling slightly against Vin's skin, and saw the shiver that seemed to run to the tips of Vin's fingers and toes, rocking his head back and dropping his mouth open in a wide gasp... Oh, it was a part of Vin, all right, a part of them, and Chris couldn't wait to taste it, to test that response further.

"Oh. My. God. Vin." He couldn't force any other words out; they flashed through his brain too quickly to catch hold of: beautiful-primitive-sexy-perfect-*mine*. His body went from simmer to aching, hard, and suddenly all-but-paralyzed. Chris couldn't imagine making a move, taking anything further than that one, tiny touch.

Fortunately, Vin was not so afflicted, and reached out, cupping one hand under Chris's chin, pulling him in until their lower bodies were pressed together, running the other hand up his shoulder and into his hair-- Chris hissed involuntarily when Vin's fingers accidentally stumbled across the damn bump he was wearing courtesy of the second perp this morning. He flinched; and Vin froze, dropping his eyes unerringly to the small bloodstains that littered Chris's collar. Damn, he knew there'd been a compelling reason to shower and change clothes. Vin's exploration was gentle, restrained; but his expression was stormy.

"You want to tell me again 'bout that morning you had?"

Chris made to move closer, hoping to sidetrack the whole conversation, but Vin's body was no longer pliant. He stiffened, pulling back, turning away, and then spinning back around to pin Chris sharply with his gaze.

"I'm waiting," Vin reminded him, his voice a low rasp.

Chris felt his own anger rise in response. They led active lives, whether they were working, playing, or just hanging around. Chris had taken worse falls from Pony, and Vin's broken collarbone last year playing Frisbee sure wasn't covered under worker's comp. "Hell, Vin, the kid was an amateur," he offered the only explanation he was willing to concede. "The only reason he got on top at all was 'cause I wasn't willing to throw him into oncoming traffic. No harm done. Let it go."

"What were you doing wrassling a kid half your age, anyway, old man?" Vin wasn't giving in yet, although he seemed willing to spread his ire around. "Where was your backup? What did Nate say?"

"They were on my heels. Hell, you should have seen Josiah waving the kid around in the air. French looked like he needed some Dramamine." It really was comical, in retrospect. And if Vin had been there, he'd be laughing right along with Chris. But of course, he hadn't been there, hadn't even known there was action going down. Hell, Chris hadn't known more than an hour before he was in the middle of it, and then... "It was just a shitty day, Vin. Started with an early call, spent all day running from pillar to post. Stupid fucking kids didn't know when to quit. That's all. I'm fine. Nathan let me loose, not even a visit to the ER. Let it go, Vin." He didn't make the mistake of trying to distract Vin this time, just waited while Tanner processed the information, seeing his thoughts and emotions flash by too quickly to interpret, finally settling into a grim smile.

Vin reached out again, stepping in, turning and tilting Chris until the trivial wound was exposed. Vin placed the lightest of kisses there, before raking his teeth down the tendon, leaving a burning pain in his wake, finally taking a decent-sized, pretty damn sharp bite on the point of his shoulder. Chris yelped and jerked, but Vin was holding him fast. "That hurt?" he asked, looking up through his lashes. There was still some emotion smoldering there that Chris wasn't familiar with, but he nodded cautiously. "Good." Vin licked across the bite, and it stung slightly. "You need to remember something, Larabee."

There was enough of a challenge in the tone to provoke Chris's response. "Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah." Vin ran one hand up, under his shirt, spreading wide across Chris's back. "This pale, scrawny hide here?" Chris sputtered a bit, but didn't really want to argue while that hand was radiating warmth into his muscles. "It belongs to me. Y'hear?" Hard not to, as tightly as they pressed were, now, and with Vin's face buried in his hair. "Next time I turn my back, I don't expect to find it damaged." It was no more than he would ask of Vin--had asked of Vin--though Tanner was no better at keeping his word. The intention was there, though. On both sides.

"Yessir," Chris muttered, nuzzling into Vin's neck, sliding his hands down to cup his ass and squeezing gently. "Long as that deal goes both ways."

"You got it, cowboy," Vin whispered, then ran his tongue around the shell of Chris's ear before settling in to nibble and suck on the lobe. Every touch to that tiny bit of metal sent shivers through Chris, almost chills in spite of the warm afternoon. Suddenly his clothing was too thick, too rough; any barrier between his skin and Vin's was too much. He pulled away, provoking a frown from Vin that faded to a grin once he saw that Chris was stripping off his shirt and then ripping open his too-tight jeans. Vin dropped his own hands to his fly, leaning over to push the jeans all the way down before stepping out of them and his shoes together. This time Chris was pretty sure the show wasn't an accident. Vin was teasing him, playing on his well-known weakness for that exquisite ass. And then he straightened and stood, naked and erect, just out of arms' reach and haloed by the dusky light through the picture window.

Suddenly Chris found himself gasping to get enough oxygen to his brain. Had he spent every night of the last ten days fantasizing about this body, this man? His memory really hadn't done him justice. Logically, Chris knew there were more handsome men in the world; some of them probably even lived in metro Denver. But there was something--whether it was pheromones, the man's natural scent, or maybe it was just Chris's head injury--there was just something irresistible about Vin Tanner. And Chris was done even trying.

"You gonna come quietly, or am I gonna have to get rough with you?" Chris joked, gently twisting Vin's arm up behind his back, pushing him toward the bedroom and that football field of a bed.

"Hey, man," Vin put a nasal whine into his voice. "You got no reason to push me around. I'm cooperatin'." And he was, not resisting as Chris released him and pressed him down, stretching out crosswise on the bed, leaving his feet hanging over the side. The sheets were a pale yellow, and they almost reflected the afternoon light, showing off Vin's all-over tan. Chris paused, still standing, to look one more time. Vin was grinning at him, eyes still bright and sparkly, not yet having hit that glazed, dazed look that told Chris he'd driven him far beyond the capacity for rational thought. But hey, the night was young, even if Chris wasn't.

He knelt on the bed slowly, straddling Vin, settling on to him, relishing the gasp that escaped Vin as their dicks rubbed slowly. Oh yeah, this was gonna be good. He eased his weight down, not moving, just resting there, letting their cocks get reacquainted. Chris's eye went back to the nipple ring, of course, once he had a free moment. It was still winking at him, luring him in. He reached out gently, this time getting to feel the all-over shudder that resulted from his hesitant touch.

"Feels good?" he asked, unnecessarily.

"Oh, yeah," Vin groaned.

"Can I suck it?" He wanted to, God, he'd been dreaming of it. But he wasn't sure, didn't want to hurt Vin, didn't want this to be anything but pleasure. Vin nodded though, and so Chris leaned down, placing an arm on either side of Vin's chest, just resting there for a moment.

First he blew gently across the top, watching the skin twitch, feeling the ripple of response along Vin's nerves. Then, sticking out his tongue, he touched the very tip, above where the wire pierced it, tasting the unique flavor of Vin. Oh yeah, that was definitely the magic button. Vin arched up, pressing into his mouth, forcing contact Chris hadn't even gotten to yet. But he wasn't going to argue; instead he wrapped his lips firmly around the hard nub, sucking gently. Vin moaned. *Moaned!* And whatever caution Vin had had about the newness of the piercing or its state of healing--or, for that matter, Chris's goose-egg--was gone, because he'd taken Chris firmly in hand, pulling at his hair and then grasping his skull, holding him firmly in place. Chris didn't fight it, in fact, moved from sucking on to nibbling, and finally exploring the ring with his tongue. It was tiny, and only the tip actually fit inside, but he managed to swirl the bead, flick it up and down a few times, and generally test-drive the new equipment. The performance was amazing. Vin continued to arch and cling, alternately pressing up into Chris's mouth and then rounding his back, driving their cocks together. And all the while he was letting out the most incredible sounds. Chris, who'd been on a simmer since the airport, was hard, hot and hungry, but his body's reaction seemed almost tame in comparison.

Finally he pulled back out of the hard grasp, pushing up on his elbows to look down into Vin's face. Yeah, there was that dazed look: his eyes were glassy and half-lidded, his mouth open and panting, his skin flushed and blotchy with excitement. Looking steadily into his face, Chris flicked the ring with his finger, and watched Vin's mouth round in a shocked "O". Chris didn't think he'd ever tire of watching that reaction shake Vin from head to toe. And the sounds! Somewhere between a whine and a growl, some less charitable--or maybe just less besotted--part of Chris was put in mind of a puppy. He grinned, and managed to bite that comment back before he spoiled the mood altogether.

Out of a sense of fairness, he dropped his head back down, this time to explore the left nipple, au naturel. It was sensitive--Vin always had been--but it didn't quite provide that tidal wave of response that Chris was pretty sure he was going to be addicted to before the moon set. He slid down further, ignoring Vin's protest, until he was kneeling on the plush carpet and burying his face in the overwhelming scent at Vin's groin. The skin there was hot and damp and fragrant, and Chris took a moment just to savor it, raking through the wiry hair with his nose, pressing Vin's knees wide for better access.

Vin's cock was hard, so flushed with blood that it looked as if it might burst, and seemed to strain toward Chris's mouth. He didn't resist that urging either, just opened wide and took it in, clamping his lips down tight against the sudden, involuntary thrust that drove it back, almost gagging him. But he found the angle, and Vin found a rhythm, and between them the air seemed charged with electricity: potential energy that built, winding tighter and higher, until--with the certainty of natural law--it was released, surging out of Vin in strong pulsing waves. Chris swallowed the first burst and the second, and then he was swept away by the tide, rocking, grinding his dick hard into the side of the bed, dropping his mouth free from Vin 'cause if he didn't get a full breath he might pass out--

Orgasm stretched, elongated, attenuated, and finally faded to shivers and then stillness. Chris was sprawled half across Vin, his lower body collecting what would surely turn out to be a lovely mottling pattern from the Berber rug. Vin might have been passed out or asleep, so still--and finally silent--was he. Deep, even inhalations lifted Chris's head every few seconds, and he was content to lie there, knowing that the only way they could be closer was fucking, and that they'd get there eventually.

Uncounted minutes later discomfort finally outweighed lassitude, and Chris pushed up from his awkward position to crawl gracelessly onto the bed next to Vin. He shivered, sweat cooling on his skin, and dragged the bedspread up and over them both. Burrowing in close, he wrapped an arm and a leg across Vin, and slipped into a doze, drifting and yet still aware enough to mark the passing of the daylight and the steady thud of Vin's heart under his hand.

It was full dark in the suite, with only pale moonlight glimmering through the picture window, when Vin woke. He made no move or sound, but Chris sensed the rapid shift from unconscious stillness to coiled, wary potential. And just as quickly, Vin oriented himself, sliding back into relaxation, loosing a contented sigh into the shadows. He dropped his head to the side, and that was all the invitation Chris needed; he wriggled up enough to bring them level, and by touch and taste hunted out the warm, wet depth of Vin's mouth. They kissed and touched, without the earlier urgency, each touch more soothing than incendiary.

Vin had his nose buried in Chris's armpit, which had to be one of the nastier places to explore after the day he'd had, but damn if Tanner didn't get off on some weird things. When Chris's stomach growled, Vin burst out laughing. "Hell, Larabee. Didn't you eat at all while I was gone?" He poked a sharp finger into Chris's ribs. "You were skinny enough when I left!"

He countered with a tickling touch to Vin's most vulnerable spot, below his ribs on his left side, and was rewarded with a loud screech and strong hand pinning his wrist to the bed. "Don't start with me, Tanner," he warned, but couldn't keep the silly grin off his face. Vin's teeth flashed in the dim light, mirroring his smile.

"All right. All right. You gonna buy me dinner, Mr. Larabee?"

"You're going to have to let me go if you want me to order." He tugged experimentally, and Vin released him. Chris pushed upright and checked the closet, finding two plush terrycloth robes. He drew one on against the slight chill of the air conditioning, and threw the other one across the bed at Vin, who was still sprawled there. The hardbound room-service menu lay on the desk, and Chris flipped it open.

"Room service?" Vin sounded scandalized, and Chris reflected again on the difference in their backgrounds, and how little difference it seemed to make in their lives, their life.

"Yeah, yeah, take advantage while I'm still feeling guilty," he teased. "Just tell me what you want." He made a mental bet that it would be steak (medium), rice, and whatever fresh veg they were serving. He would have won, too, except that Vin went for a green salad, instead. Chris phoned down, ordering lasagna for himself, and a bottle of wine.

"Won't be up for a half-hour. I'm going to shower. Join me?" He didn't wait for a response, just went to the bathroom, slid open the glass doors, and started the water heating. He took the opportunity to relieve himself, and was just turning back to test the water when he saw movement in the mirror. Vin, still bare-assed naked, nestled up behind him, wrapping tanned arms around his waist and resting his chin on Chris's shoulder.

"Dunno, Larabee," he commented. "With a shower that size, maybe you should have invited the whole team."

They might have fit, just, but as compatible and as close as Team Seven was, Chris didn't feel the need to invite them any deeper into his life. Some days he felt like more like a high-school guidance counselor than a boss. But a fine edge of caring and humor kept things balanced, most of the time.

"You feeling like you need a little backup, Vin? Can't keep up with an old man?" Vin growled, then, pulling at the belt, dragged the robe down and away, and pressed Chris back into the near-scalding spray. The shower-stall was marble, the floor slightly textured, and the heat-lamps and mirrors sent shining reflections into every corner and sparkled off the drops suspended in Vin's hair. He kept pushing, until Chris's back was against the wall, the water cascading over both of them, sliding across heated skin, swirling around their feet. And then, when Vin had him pinned firmly, seemingly every inch of him pressed solidly against Chris, the water--hell, even the air--banished from between them, he sought out Chris's mouth, teasing it open with his tongue, and pushed even closer.

It felt like Vin climbed inside him, lighting his nerves on fire, filling his heart until he thought it would burst. And when he knew he couldnt take any more, that he'd pass out or die, Vin soothed him, trading heat for comfort, and filling him up with that, too.

Vin finally pulled back with a groan, leaving him panting. The water washed into the new space between them, feeling not significantly warmer than Chris's flesh in the aftermath of Vin's attention. And then, with a teasing twist of his lips, Tanner sank to his knees and took the hottest, hardest part of Chris's body into his mouth. "Oh. God. Vin!" The sudden jolt of sensation made him glad he had the wall at his back, and locked knees to keep him upright. The shower spray, no longer diverted by Vin's back, rained down on Chris's face, washing into his eyes and open mouth, running down over his chest and belly, and then it might well have spontaneously evaporated at the heat Vin was creating in his groin.

Except that it wasn't. There was more water, running down his thighs where Vin was massaging, stroking in time to his steady sucking. It was like drowning, like sensory overload, and now his heart really was exploding, the blast wave rolling outward, flattening everything in its path. He clung to Vin's shoulders, anchored, as his body spent itself in wave after wave of convulsive pleasure. Vin held him solidly, both hands and mouth, taking all Chris spent and offering it back in love and strength. His own strength seemed to wash out of Chris with the waning orgasm, and he was grateful for Vin's hands that moved from his thighs to his waist, and then, as Vin rose, to his shoulders, pressing him back against the tile, making sure he was secure. He rested there, his mind as unsteady as his body was, not even wondering where Vin had gone until he was back. And then he didn't have to wonder, because Vin had a washcloth, and a smooth, fragrant bar of soap, and he was lathering them in the still-hot spray.

"Hush," Vin stilled Chris's instinctive reach, and leaned in with a kiss. He started at Chris's left hand, lifting it gently, and with meticulous attention he swabbed every millimeter of skin there. He pressed a warm, wet kiss to the tip of each waterlogged finger and the center of his palm, each touch drawing a gasp from Chris, before moving on to the forearm. The soft washcloth brushed against the grain of the fine, blond hair, and then Vin's hands turned his wrist over, stroking up the soft skin underneath. Chris accepted the gentle care with wonder, each brush of the damp cloth a caress to his skin...and to his soul. When Vin reached his shoulder, he raised Chris's arm, pressing it over his head against the wall, scrubbing thick lather into his armpit, combing through the hair and then stroking a wide, warm hand down Chris's ribs to his waist. Chris waited, still, feeling almost paralyzed under those loving hands. Vin reached up again, drawing Chris's arm back down to hang loosely at his side.

He started again at the right hand, with all the same care and concentration. Chris's gasps turned to whimpers, but he held still, and as quiet as he could. Vin moved on, finally, to Chris's chest, where he carefully swabbed each nipple, and traced the cloth between the prominent ribs he kept teasing Chris about. He kissed and suckled at the left nipple, and gave the right one a playful nip, Chris's body gave a sudden twitch, a shadow of Vin's earlier responses. His attention to Chris's groin was businesslike, carefully tracing up the inside of his thigh, lifting his balls matter-of-factly to swipe them carefully clean. Vin's hand on his dick was nonsexual, too, but apparently no one had passed the word. Chris's body was trying hard for its normal, well-trained response to that touch, but it was asking too much of itself. Vin patted the half-hard length in consolation, and knelt down again, starting his painstaking process on Chris's left foot.

Chris was dazed, almost hypnotized, and barely noticed when Vin interrupted his steady rhythm of washing. But, when his head came up sharply, Chris's mind tried to process threat or defense. Vin uncoiled easily from the floor, and pressed him back gently when he tried to follow.

"I got it," he whispered, barely louder than the hissing water, and stepped out of the shower.

Chris was left, waiting, for a minute or an hour until Vin stepped back in, letting a cool breeze in through the glass door. He shivered slightly, wondered vaguely if they'd managed to use all the hot water in an entire hotel boiler, and then didn't think anything at all once Vin was leaning against him and sinking his tongue into Chris's mouth.

Vin pulled away enough to mutter, "Dinner's waiting," and then picked up his cloth again. It was more utilitarian, and faster, as he completed washing Chris's legs, and then eased him around to run the soapy cloth over Chris's back and then down to his ass. Again, Chris's body tried to respond, in vain. Vin stepped back a moment, giving himself the barest once-over with the washrag, and then he was back again, pulling Chris forward, into the spray, rinsing away any last vestige of suds and sex. Then he steered Chris out of the shower stall, easing him into the robe while he was still dripping, grabbing a towel and rubbing most of the moisture from Chris's hair, and then dropping the towel to the floor.

Vin stood there, dripping, naked but for the sparkling nipple ring, hair stretching past his shoulders with the weight of the water. He gazed silently at Chris, as he had for most of the last hour, his look stunned or amazed or...something that Chris couldn't quite read. But he seemed content, and Chris was more than content, so he let it pass. Still dazed, he watched Vin towel off, rubbing quickly at his hair, and then slinging the towel around his neck to catch the drips. Vin shrugged into the other robe, which Chris thought was a little odd, since he'd hadn't been wearing it before, but before he could puzzle it out, Vin ushered him back out to the sitting room.

Soft music was playing, the lights were low, and the rolling table was set up near the window overlooking the sparkling city skyline. The smell of the food overwhelmed other urges, and they both set to with gusto. After the initial edge was off his hunger, Chris sat back, enjoying Vin's enthusiasm second-hand. Vin felt his gaze, looked up to meet his grin, and then shoved another large forkful into his mouth. Chris chuckled easily, dropping his open hand across the table, gripping Vin's when it was offered in return.

"'S'matter, Chris? Fer the price of room service, ain't the lasagna any good?" It was, but food wasn't the hunger Chris was feeling the need to satisfy right now.

"It's fine." He was smiling again, he could feel it stretching his face, more widely and easily than Chris could remember in quite a while.

"Well, you better eat up, then. 'Cause you're gonna need that stamina later." Vin wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Chris laughed out loud this time. "'Sides, you don't wanna let it go to waste." Vin was chasing the last few grains of rice around his plate. Waste obviously wasn't going to be an issue with his dinner.

Chris, still not releasing his grip on Vin's hand, took a few more bites of his lasagna before pushing the plate away. "C'mere." He stood, pulling at Vin's hand. The sofa was large and inviting, comfortable, too, as he settled sideways against the arm and pulled Vin down between his knees. The view was just as spectacular. Vin reclined against him, dropping his head back on to Chris's shoulder, murmuring wordlessly, happily when Chris squeezed him around the waist.

And that was all, for uncounted minutes they sat silently, soaking in the other's presence like a desert plant in a spring storm, Chris thought, blooming suddenly and vividly. But the extension of that metaphor was disturbing: the equally quick fade to dry, desert brown. Sarah would have known how to tame the desert plant, to transplant it to more nutritious soil, to nurture it with care and love that would keep it living and blooming beyond its natural state. He stumbled there; metaphors would only extend so far. He refused to accept that the "natural" conclusion of this relationship, of all his relationships, was dry, dusty emptiness. But that was a new awareness, commitment. And it correlated pretty exactly to the presence of Vin Tanner in his life.

"Yer thinkin' pretty loud up there, pard," Vin finally said, turning just enough to press a small kiss to Chris's jaw.

"Yeah," he whispered into Vin's hair, but didn't elaborate. He wasn't sure what he needed to communicate, how he could express things that he was only just beginning to learn the shape and size of.

Vin pressed a kiss against his jaw, and then wandered up to lick and tease his earring. "Been thinkin', too." Chris shouldn't have been surprised. They were so often on the same wavelength that Buck had started to make "psychic friend" jokes. "Wanted this," he gestured toward his chest, "or somethin' like it. Fer a while now." He paused, allowing the soft background jazz filter into the conversation, like a third voice or well-chosen soundtrack. "Somethin' visible. Permanent. But private." Vin's eyes flicked away for a moment, a little embarrassed, then came back up to meet his squarely, almost challenging Chris to accept or reject his declaration.

Damn. Sometimes it *did* seem like Vin had a window into his brain. 'Cause those words released the tension, eased his confusion, and brightened his internal landscape like a shining sunrise, bringing crisp, clear shapes from shadow. And in that gentle dawn, Chris could imagine their relationship flourishing and flowering: solid enough to withstand the hard times to come. And there would be, there always were, but the idea of facing them shoulder to shoulder with Vin Tanner... Hell, they'd spat in the devil's eye more than most men survived; they could make this work.

Chris felt a grin stretch his lips, and watched the challenge in Vin's eyes shade over to joy. "It's perfect, Vin." He watched as Vin's face gave over into a slightly-embarrassed smile. "I love it," he murmured. "I love *you*." It wasn't news, to either of them; they'd said the words often enough. But it felt like a different intention, like this well of feeling was deeper, more intense. Permanent. And, if the challenge in Vin's eyes was anything to go on, they were in tune again. Still.

Vin writhed and twisted, until he could sit facing Chris, their legs braided between them on the sofa. "Ain't never had someone just my own before," he whispered. "Someone to love, no matter what comes." His eyes burned into Chris, searing this moment, this gift, into his soul. "Someone to love me back..." he trailed off, and it was as natural as breathing, as loving Vin, for Chris to carry on.

"Never thought I would have someone again," he admitted, "but I think you knew that." Vin nodded, encouraging. "Didn't think I had anything left to give after Sarah and Adam." He reached out cupping Vin's jaw, rubbing his thumb from scratchy stubble to smooth, warm skin. "This is one time I'm glad to be wrong." Vin's smile shifted then, from soft and open to his well-loved wry grin.

"Wanna get that one on tape, Larabee," he growled, then leaned in to kiss him, kneeling up, bracing on the arm on the sofa, so that the only things touching were their knees, lips, and the soft brush of Vin's hair on his face. Chris just lay back and followed Vin's lead: kissing gave way to stroking, and stroking to humping awkwardly on the not-nearly-wide-enough sofa. He was dizzy from sensation--and maybe lack of oxygen--so he was a little slow to react when the world started to shift. Vin's surprised look was comical, and then he was clinging to Chris, trying to halt his plunge off the edge of the couch. Chris, in his turn, grabbed at cushioned backrest. But the silky fabric was slippery under his fingers, Vin's weight was too far extended, and so in seeming slow motion they slid, with all the grace of Wile E. Coyote, over the side. Vin landed first, flat on his back, and Chris dropped on top of him, bringing a harsh grunt and rush of air when his elbow buried itself in Vin's stomach.

Vin's body was shuddering silently with breathless laughter, tears running from sparkling blue eyes. And Chris couldn't help but join in, dropping his head to Vin's chest to feel the rumble of mirth. Vin's arms came up around him and he rolled, gently, until they were on their sides and he could run his hands up under Chris's rucked-up bathrobe. The touch was like fire on his skin, and Chris reached back, only to find his arms tangled in the loose robe that was twisted and tucked under them both. He squirmed impatiently, rolling away when all he wanted was to get closer-- Vin's hands moved down to the belt, releasing the loose knot there as Chris finally managed to work one arm out of the twisted sleeve. He pushed and Vin pulled, and Chris was finally free of the gripping fabric. He dropped his hands to Vin's belt then, to return the favor.

"Okay, okay." Vin was still laughing, but didn't resist as Chris pushed the robe off his shoulders. They spread both robes on the carpet, like a picnic blanket, and then Chris was free to touch, to run his hands over Vin's smooth, warm skin. And Vin's every touch was still fire, lighting Chris's nerves, driving his body higher, until he was panting and achingly hard. Vin's erection burned where it pressed into Chris's belly, already leaving a damp trail across his skin. Chris arched hard when one warm, wet finger traced across his crack, delving in to tease at his anus.

"Yes!" he gasped. He moaned when Vin probed deeper, sliding deep enough to press firmly inside. And then he moaned again when Vin's other hand found his cock, squeezing firmly. Chris's own hands were almost useless to him now. He was gripping Vin's shoulders, bracing himself between the twin stimuli of front and back, arching and gasping at Vin's gentle torture.

"I think I've got you now," Vin whispered, in a wannabe-sinister sneer. And then, as if it weren't enough already, he sucked in Chris's earlobe, flicking his tongue against the earring, biting down when the shudder rocked Chris from head to toe.

"Yes!" Chris gasped again, then turned his head to capture that mouth, to lure Vin's tongue in, until it was probing him, almost as deeply as he wished he were being probed elsewhere. He wanted to say more, to ask, but he'd have to release Vin's mouth to do it, and that seemed as impossible as drawing a deep breath right now.

Until Vin did it for him, pulling back, taking his hands away. "Got somethin' for you," he muttered. And Chris was left sprawled, as Vin knelt up, looking up his length, unable to see his face for the tousled hair that had fallen forward. Vin was patting the ground, searching. Finally, after seconds that seemed endless, Chris pushed up on his elbows, trying to figure out what was taking him so long. He was lying here, dick waving in the wind, while Vin was...

"Gotcha!" Vin exulted, reaching under the sofa and coming up with a foil-wrapped condom and a small bottle of hotel-labeled lotion. He smiled warmly at Chris, and pressed him back down with one hand in the center of Chris's chest. "Gonna take care of you, now. Gonna give you what you need." He ripped at the packet with one hand and his teeth, the other still resting on Chris, heating him through to his heart.

But suddenly Chris wanted more, to return some of the gentle care that Vin had lavished on him earlier, to-- He didn't know what.... more...but he did know this: "Let me," he offered, pushing up to sitting. Vin sank back onto his heels, thighs corded, cock still hard and glistening. Chris took the rubber from him-- red, he noticed absently--and carefully, slowly, eased it over the tip of Vin's erection. Vin's breath hissed in sharply at his touch, but he didn't move his hands from where they dug into his own thighs, probably making marks there that Chris would see tomorrow. "Relax," he soothed, slowly rolling the condom open, trying to make it as matter-of-fact as possible. Neither one of them needed any extra stimulation right now.

"Easer said than done, cowboy." Vin grinned, but he did manage to open his hands, brushing the skin smooth, and then raising them to rest across Chris's shoulders.

Chris continued his task, with more concentration than it really required, because well, Vin's cock was worthy of a little extra attention. When he finally reached the base, he leaned forward to give it a tiny kiss--purposely not exciting, just a peck--and reached for the lotion. Again, with as gentle and soothing a touch as he could, he stroked the length of Vin's sheathed cock with the lotion, watching the reaction rock him anyway. When he was sure he'd paid appropriate attention to every inch, he sat back, offering the bottle up to Vin.

Vin took it, and leaned in to press a deep kiss in his mouth, before guiding him back, down to the blanket of robes, steering him to lie on his stomach. He turned his head to the side, so he could still watch Vin from one eye, until he shifted, moved to straddle his legs, and then all Chris had was touch. Vin's lotioned hands massaged from his lower back, over his ass and down to the top of his thighs, paradoxically releasing and increasing Chris's tension. He hung, suspended between melting and igniting, until Vin's hands settled, still, on his butt.

One hand spread him, gently, while the other pressed inward, carrying slickness, spreading sensation that rippled outward from that one spot to the end of every nerve. Chris squeezed his eyes tight shut, closing out everything but the fire in his gut and his cock and his ass. Everything but Vin. He caught back a complaint when the intruding finger left him. But it was quickly restored, along with another, scissoring, stretching him, preparing him.

So fully was he focused on feeling, that it was almost a shock to hear Vin's voice, to form word from the warm puff of breath by his ear. "Ready?"

Oh, now that was a stupid question, but the only sound that escaped his mouth was a low moan.

"Oh, yeah," Vin murmured. "I think you are." And then the fingers were gone again. Before Chris could complain, they were replaced by the blunt tip of Vin's cock, pressing inward, warm hands spreading his cheeks, and soft, encouraging sounds that might or might not have been words floating by his ear. Chris, for his part, didn't have or need words. Didn't need anything but the warm weight bearing him down, and the hot heat now pressed deeply into him. But when Vin's hands brushed the lengths of his outstretched arms, teasing his fisted hands free of the fabric he didn't even know he'd been clutching, and then braided their fingers, palm to back...

Yeah, now he had everything he needed.

They lay there, still for a moment, and Chris soaked in the sensation of being completely blanketed, penetrated, held. Safe. The realization of how rarely he felt this secure was two-edged, and he waited, suspended there, until Vin shifted, rocking slightly, driving deeper, stimulating him so powerfully that thought was banished and all he had was touch. He arched his back, driving himself hard onto Vin's cock, dropping his mouth open to release a wordless cry and then gasp in desperately needed breath.

Vin thrust again, and again, slowly building to a steady rhythm that seemed likely to drive Chris to spontaneous combustion. He writhed, arching back, clenching his hands on Vin's in counterpoint, panting heavily.

He didn't know how long it went on. It seemed both interminable and instantaneous: his body, already teased to its last nerve, crested the wave of sensation and crashed. The tremors shook him, spreading outward from his center, fire burning along his nerves, sweat--already soaked between them--breaking on his brow, running into the creases of his tightly-shut eyes. His dick pulsed strongly, spreading a hot, wet pool under him, easing his own friction against the rough fabric.

Vin's voice was still brushing by his ear, and he almost wished he could understand the sounds that went with the sensation. But then even that much thought was swept away, as Vin's rhythm seized, lost its beat, and then slid over into frenzied thrusting. The tag end of his own orgasm, overlapping the launch of Vin's, seemed to stretch unnaturally, and he rode it as long as he could, treasuring shared ecstasy. Finally, the tension and motion slowly faded between them, leaving Chris melted flat on the floor, with a blanket of warm, limp Texan sprawled across his back. Little shivers of lightning still shook them occasionally, seeming to flow easily from him to Vin and back again.

He sighed, sad, when Vin's softened cock finally slid free, and clung to Vin's hands when he would have broken that connection. "Don't go," he managed to whisper.

Vin's soft chuckle ruffled the hair by his ear. "Thought you might want to wash-up, and move those old bones someplace a little more comfortable." But he relaxed back down, pressing a warm kiss to the nape of Chris's neck, licking the sweat-damp flesh, then sliding up to kiss his ear.

They lay there, every inhalation through Chris's mouth somewhat constrained by the weight on his back, every exhaled breath from Vin ruffling his hair and cooling the sweat on his skin.

Immeasurable minutes later, the hard floor did begin to wear on his old bones, and he shifted slightly. Vin took the hint and rolled off. He slid of the rubber, tied off the end, then rose with disgusting ease and offered Chris an insolent hand up. He accepted it without comment, and got pulled into a warm, easy kiss. Then Vin was pushing him toward the wide bed, almost tripping on the untidy pile of bathrobes in the still-dark room. At the bedside he didn't turn on the lamp, just dragged the covers back and slid in, holding the blanket up invitingly. Chris slid in next to him, feeling all the ways they fit together, shivering at the tiny pinch of his chest along Vin's, and Vin's corresponding shudder. What once was smooth--and so nearly hairless that Buck had once accused him of waxing--was now decorated, adorned, adored.

And maybe he was getting old, 'cause Vin was nibbling across his collarbone, licking down the center of his chest, doing a little prospecting in his navel, and Chris was drifting. The feather-light touches soothed rather than stimulated; Vin's warm breath across his skin seemed to reach deep inside and release tension he hadn't even recognized, until the touch and scent and sound of Vin--when had his eyes fallen shut?--was the entire world. Gradually, saturated in sensation, he slept.

* * *

The soft light through the tinted windows brought Chris to a dull awareness. As he sharpened a few indicators of alertness, he noticed that his shoulder was aching and stiff. And itching. He glanced down, careful not to move anything but his head for fear of arousing other pains. And found himself grinning at the top of Vin's head, using him as a pillow, each steady breath accompanied by a tiny rocking that dragged Vin's soft whiskers over his skin.

He slid a hand lightly up the back of Vin's neck, provoking a tiny shiver and then a slow, incremental stretch. He hadn't managed to startle Vin yet; he seemed to have some sixth sense where it came to Chris's hands on his body. He lifted his head to meet Chris's eyes, offering a contented grin, and brushing his hand enquiringly across Chris's dick. But the hardness there had a lot more to do with morning and a pressing need for the toilet than the admittedly sexy body pressed along his side. Chris shifted away slightly.

"Gotta go," he explained briefly, and slithered out from under Vin. The bathroom was full of pleasant memories, and once he'd relieved the pressure on his bladder--however awkwardly--he reached in to start the shower running.

Vin ambled in, naked, waving his own morning erection, with his curls showing the sad after-effects of having been slept on wet. Chris ruffled the hair, teasing, and then stepped into the hot shower. Though Vin followed, it was far more utilitarian than the night before. They were clean and out in under a quarter hour, and Vin spent the next ten minutes teasing and making Chris's life miserable as he shaved.

"I ought to report you for unprofessional conduct," Chris threatened, swiping away the last of the cream. Office appearance was one area where Chris's control-freak tendencies did not extend.

"I have the boss wrapped around my finger." He demonstrated, instead, how completely he could wrap himself around the boss, resting his chin over Chris's shoulder and crossing his arms over his belly. Chris rested his hands over Vin's.

"Yeah, I'd have a hard time arguing that one, wouldn't I?" He grinned, meeting Vin's vivid eyes in the mirror. "Buy you breakfast?" he offered.

Vin grinned insouciantly back at him. "It's already on the way up."

"Damn, good in bed, and smart, too. What did I do to deserve you?" He turned in Vin's arms, sliding his fingers deep into the sodden curls, combing through the few tangles he encountered. He opened his mouth, and Vin was right there to meet him. The necking might have gotten out of hand again, if there hadn't been a peremptory knock at the door and the call of "room service."

Vin pulled away. "Coffee!" he protested, when Chris would have pulled him back. Standing between Vin Tanner and his first cup of coffee was not a survival behavior. By the time he wandered out, Vin had swallowed half his own cup, and was offering one to Chris. He took it gratefully; it was hot and sweet, and damn good. CNN muttered in the background.

He caught the pair of sweats Vin threw at his head, which only served to emphasize that he'd left his change of clothes at the office. Fuckit. He glanced at the clock; if they hustled, he could change, and still make his 8:30 meeting with Travis and Evans. Maybe they'd even have made some progress in his absence. Pulling up and tying the sweats, he glanced over at the disemboweled cellphones on the bar.

"Uh-uh-uh," Vin warned, dropping down at the rolling table--their second, and even the large suite was starting to get cluttered--helping himself to an English muffin. Chris resolutely turned away from the phones.

"Okay, but I have to pull my messages before we get in," he countered. He'd look like a complete moron if he wasn't at least that prepared. Vin nodded grudgingly and gestured at the breakfast spread: omelets, sliced fruit, one remaining muffin, and a large carafe of coffee.

It took half of the ride downtown to pull the dozen messages he had waiting for him. Two were from Travis, and then one from his secretary: the 8:30 meeting had been pushed back to ten. Three were from Evans, or other members of his team, following through on his promise to keep Chris in the loop. There were few substantive updates on the investigation, but a couple of avenues were sounding promising. The others were all from Buck: first at the office, and later from his cell and from home. At first Chris listened, concerned that there was something that needed his attention. But by the time Buck broke down laughing, halfway through the first message, which contained his advice of how Chris should apologize to Vin... He considered scanning the rest, but ended up just deleting them unheard. If that had been JD in the background, Buck was going to be doing some serious groveling of his own.

Fortunately, a quick scan of the parking garage did not show Wilmington's truck. Chris managed to slide into the locker room, and change into office attire without drawing any attention to himself. Vin kept him company, and they walked off the elevator shoulder to shoulder at 8:10. Buck had shown up in the mean time, along with JD and Josiah. All heads came up, and they called out greetings to Vin. Vin chuckled, and dropped into his chair, groaning when he looked at the flashing message light on his phone. The others converged on him, and Chris was going to put a stop to that right now.

"Buck, my office." Buck looked his way, a twinkle in his blue eyes, and leaned over Vin to whisper something. Whatever it was, Vin responded with a sharp elbow in Wilmington's ribs, earning an over-emphasized "whoof" in response. "*Now*, Buck." He put some steel in his voice, but it wasn't enough to stop Buck from ruffling Vin's hair--Vin hated that, and elbowed him again--before sauntering Chris's way.

"Close the door behind you," he ordered, leaning back against his desk, and thereby halving the size of the room. Buck would either have to enter his space to take the chair or lean back against the closed door. Or he could, and did, sink down on the arm of Chris's sofa, kicking his heels against the upholstery. "Stop that," Chris snapped. Buck looked completely unrepentant, but he did still for the moment, and turned a smug grin Chris's way. His eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"Don't look like you got much relief last night," Buck needled. Chris ground his teeth and prayed he wasn't blushing.

"Buck..." he warned.

"Did he make you pay for standing him up at the airport?" Buck shook his head. "Now, Chris, how many times have I told you..."

"Don't you start with me, Wilmington." The last thing he needed was a love-lesson from Buck. Not only did he not need the help, he wanted Buck to shut the fuck up about it.

"Oh, boy. He really is gone on you, isn't he?" Buck seemed to be reading the thoughts off a face Chris really thought was a lot more stony than he was apparently pulling off. "Don't he have no pride? " Buck shook his head in mock sorrow. "After more'n a week away, left standing alone on the curb, you'd'a thought..." Buck rambled on, his eyes flashing and his grin splitting his face.

"Don't!" Chris tried, fuck he tried. He had every right to be pissed off; Buck was being an asshole, poking his nose where it didn't belong, making fun of something that was deeply, personally important to Chris. But in the end, he couldn't hold it. Buck made fun of almost everything, and the higher the risk, the better the payoff. And this morning, still riding the afterglow of some truly fantastic sex, he couldn't stay mad. "Awww, fuckit," he conceded, and Buck only guffawed gently, reaching out to slap Chris's knee.

"Okay, I take it back. Maybe you did all right."

"Buck," he said sharply, on a rising tone.

"Aw, c'mon, Chris."

"Don't even go there, and that's final." He'd be damned if he'd be dragged into a Wilmington-style debriefing. Besides, there'd be too much to tell, what with the tension of the last ten days, the mess they'd made of the hotel room, and Vin's new jewelry. Nah, he was better off not even opening that line of questioning.

Just to keep him in line, he took Buck along to the Travis meeting, and made sure he was tied up most of the day with other departments. He was almost sure he could trust Vin to keep his mouth shut, but Buck could be pretty damn sneaky with enough motivation and time on his hands. Chris could only take away one of those.

He kept busy, too, which made it slightly easier to be within a country mile of Vin yet keep his hands to himself. It had been hard, though. A couple of times, he'd found himself leaning over Vin's shoulder, just resting an arm along his back, or touching him lightly to draw his attention. It was pathetic. Finally, he just closed his door on the office, and temptation, and started on the report that would finally get them off this damn case, and back to Wattney, where they belonged.

It must have worked, 'cause he was taken by surprise when Vin stuck his head in, asking if he wanted to go out with the guys for a drink. A tiny quirk of his lips made it clear Vin's heart wasn't in the request.

"Nah, let's head on out to the ranch, if that's okay with you?" Damn dance of where, when, and how much time to spend together. He was sick of it. If he never spent another night without Vin, it would be too soon. He sighed at the thought. Wishful thinking. Vin's bright smile rewarded him though, and he saved the file and shut down the computer before standing up to leave.

Vin stood at his shoulder as he broke the news to the guys, weathering JD's disappointed groan and Buck's knowing grin. "We'll see you tomorrow," Chris said firmly, and led the way out, taking the stairs rather than risking even the length of an elevator ride in close quarters with both Vin and Buck. "Coward," he might have heard, before the fire door clanged shut. Vin's hand rested in the small of his back, pressing him onward, though he really hadn't thought of turning back. The warmth curled through to his stomach, pooling in his groin, settling into a pleasant ache there.

* * *

The ride home was quiet, until Vin made him point out where he'd had to pull off for their spontaneous phone sex session.

"Maybe you should show me?" Vin asked, taunting gently.

The idea sent a shiver through Chris. Exhibitionism wasn't a kink he'd known Vin had. He looked in the rearview at the heavy traffic flow, and the sun that was more than an hour from even hinting at twilight. There was thrill, and then there was stupidity. A dusty turnout, no matter the memories, was no match for a house full of privacy at home.

"Maybe not," he countered gently, dropping a hand into Vin's lap to divert him, suddenly glad for a whole new reason that the Ram was jacked up for four-wheeling. He managed to distract him, gently stroking and pressing the warmth that rose to his touch. Vin's breathing went quick and shallow, and he gripped Chris's thigh convulsively. Poised, strung tightly, they managed to maintain that equilibrium until he pulled up by the house, gravel grinding under tires.

Home. With Vin. Oh, yeah.

Chris undid his seatbelt and leaned across to drop a light kiss on Vin's mouth, but Vin wasn't having that. He pulled Chris's face in tight, and delved deep with his tongue. Chris sucked in a breath around their twisting tongues, his hands already pawing for Vin's shirt buttons, pulling clumsily at the stubborn fabric. He managed to work one hand inside, only to by stymied by the adhesive tape. He moaned into Vin's mouth, eliciting a low chuckle in response.

Easing down to Vin's chin, and up along the jaw line, Chris settled into chewing enthusiastically on one earlobe, loving the way it sent shivers down Vin's spine. Maybe a little too enthusiastically, Vin yelped and pulled away far enough to meet Chris's eyes without squinting. "Whoa, cowboy, if you're hungry, we can do something about that, you know?"

"You gonna work it off me later?" Chris countered, chuckling and climbing out of the truck. He really didn't think that either of them were going to be lacking for aerobic exercise any time soon.

The fridge was a wasteland of leftovers and wilting vegetables, which Vin happily blended, along with some chicken broth, into one of his specialties, affectionately called "glop." But it was hot, tasty, filling, and quick, so it satisfied all of Chris's needs. All his dietary needs, anyway. He nudged Vin aside from the sink, when he would have started the dishes.

"I've got it. Why don't you go unpack, and I'll be up in a minute."

It was more than a minute, by the time he'd started the dishwasher and checked the doors and the lights, so when he came upstairs Vin was finished, no sign of either his clothes or duffel bag. Or Vin for that matter. The bathroom door cracked open then. Vin came out, naked but for the towel around his neck, catching the drips from his hair and the sparkling nipple ring. He was sporting a half-hard erection that gave Chris's dick more ideas than it really needed right then. His warm, saucy smile did the rest of the job; without a touch Chris was rock-hard, and he could feel the flush rising up his neck, probably all the way to his hairline.

Chris dropped his hands to his waistband, and shucked his pants and underwear off in one go, leaving them tangled up with his shoes in the middle of the floor. Vin just watched, amused, as he slid out of the shirt next, and bent over to pull of his socks. "Ya in a hurry there, Chris?" he taunted.

"Oh, yeah," Chris breathed, stepping in, gently pulling away the towel and dropping it, too, wrapping his arms around the warm, damp back, pulling Vin in close, nosing into the still-dripping hair. "Yeah," he sighed again. Vin's arms circled him, hands molding easily to Chris's buttocks, massaging gently.

"C'mon," Vin muttered into his ear, leaning toward the wide bed that had felt so empty for the last ten days. "Relax." He allowed himself to be steered, until they were stretched out, Vin's head on his shoulder, their legs twined and their dicks stroking each other in gentle torment. Just having Vin pressed against him, skin to skin from neck to knee, was a different sort of relief though, and he pressed a gentle kiss against the broad forehead.

"Missed you," he whispered. It was trite but true.

"Brought you a present," Vin whispered back, neither moving nor looking up to meet Chris's gaze.

"Think I already got my present." He squeezed Vin tighter, making clear his meaning.

Vin squirmed a little, and Chris loosened his hold a bit, not sure what was on Vin's mind. Vin took the freedom further, twisting up to sitting Indian-style. He looked troubled, and his eyes were hooded. A slight chill seemed to enter the room.

"Vin?" he questioned, sitting up, folding and shifting until he mirrored Vin, knee to knee.

"Aw, hell," Vin muttered, sliding his hand up under his pillow, coming out with a small brown box, which he offered across to Chris.

It was as light as air, and totally plain. No store marking or wrapping, and no indication of its contents. But there was a meaning, a message here, that he was failing to read. Or Vin was failing to send clearly. Rarely did their nonverbal communication fail him so completely. Confused, and unable to catch Vin's gaze, he lifted the lid.

Oh.

Breath rushed out of Chris in a gasp. His chest seized momentarily, and he wondered, briefly, if he'd manage to draw another breath before he passed out. He looked up, and this time caught Vin looking at him, hope and fear mixed equally in dark eyes. Chris's mouth worked silently, but he wasn't going to get far if he didn't manage to inhale pretty soon.

"Cowboy?" Vin finally croaked, and it broke enough of the tension for Chris to finally drag in a lungful of air, and then another. But it didn't solve the voice problem after all, and now he could see Vin starting to back off. "Don't have to mean nothin'," he spoke quickly, almost stumbling over his words. "Just a thought, while I was there. If'n you don't like it..."

Chris reached out, and gently put his hand over Vin's mouth, stopping the desperate flow of words. "Hush. I love it. It's perfect."

And it was. An earring, silver and lapis, a twin to Vin's. But it was more. Matching rings, and all they implied. A visible claiming, even if they were the only two who knew it. Had it been less than three hours ago that he'd fantasized never spending another night without this man?

"Yes," he in answer to the unspoken question in Vin's shining eyes. "I will." Love you, honor you, respect you, cherish you. Till death do us part. No doubt, no hesitation. He didn't need to say the words, didn't need to hear them, either, knew with absolute certainty that they were together in this. "Thank you," he whispered, bending closer, offering his mouth. They kissed, briefly, lightly, and then Vin pulled back.

"Can I?" he asked, holding out his hand, shaking a little, then steady. Chris gave him the box, then sat still as Vin's warm hand brushed the hair back from his ear, loosened the back from the gold stud and pulled it free. He set it aside on the night table, and then lifted the earring. It sparkled as brightly as Vin's, catching and reflecting the light from the lamp. It was a little more awkward for Vin to work through Chris's ear, but he finally got it in and fastened.

Vin pushed back, bracing on Chris's shoulders, eyeing him, measuring. "Like it?" Chris finally prompted. He craned his head sideways, but couldn't actually see himself in the long mirror mounted on the back of the bathroom door. And he wasn't planning on moving from the bed anytime soon, so he'd just have to accept Vin's judgment.

"Oh, yeah," Vin sighed, sliding a finger down to flick the dangling bead. "Yeah." Chris felt himself smiling, half pleased, half embarrassed. Vin leaned in close again, for a kiss, and he wasn't thinking too much any more, except how fantastic it felt to have Vin's damp hair brushing across his chest, Vin's breath warming his neck, and the strong, broad palms running across his chest, pressing him back and down. Sprawled across him, pinning him down, Vin kissed him strongly, tongue delving deeply and Chris was tasting back with his own, seeking that indescribable flavor that was uniquely Vin.

And then Vin humped against him, rubbing their cocks together strongly, and evoking a shudder that once again drove the breath from Chris's lungs and most thoughts from his brain. But not all-- He gripped tightly and rolled quickly, reversing their positions and drawing a surprised yelp from his partner. Dropping his head down, he struck his target with unerring aim even after only one day's practice. Vin arched up to meet his assault, dropping his hands down from Chris's shoulders to his ass. And then he was clutching and pulling Chris, driving them together in time with Chris's sucking rhythm, each stroke drawing a punctuated by a panting cry.

"Ah, oh, Chris... CHRIS." Wordless cries took form, and he realized that Vin was gasping his name, pulling at his hair, trying to draw him up. And Vin's other hand was searching frantically across the bed, vaguely in the direction of the night table.

Oh. OH.

"Okay," he agreed to the unasked question. Pushing up on his elbows, and then rolling off of Vin, across the wide bed, he damn near dumped his ass on the floor. But he managed to catch himself at the edge, and wrench the drawer almost off its track to pull out the lube and a foil-wrapped condom. Vin hadn't budged, except to drop his head to the side, watching Chris's every move as if hypnotized. He grinned now, as Chris held up his prizes and waved his hand in a half-assed bid to claim them.

"Uh-uh," Chris denied, holding them away, while walking on his knees back to where the action was. "Mine." With sweaty hands, it took him a couple of tries before he managed to open the wrapper, but he rolled the rubber on with a quick, light touch, not wanting to delay things, and careful not to get ahead of himself, either. Vin's hand dropped, as if innocently, to rub lightly up and down the outside of Chris's thigh, only making things more fraught than they already were. When it delved inward, toward his balls, Chris caught it and held on, until Vin finally seemed to notice.

"What?"

"Wait," Chris released him then; he needed that hand to open the tube. He squeezed a large blob onto his fingers, and reached down into the dark crevice behind Vin's balls, searching for the opportunity, and then pressing inward. Vin hitched about a little, feeling for the angle, and then relaxed, letting his knees fall open on the bed. Pressing, stretching, sighing, sucking: they were working it together, Chris had one hand inside Vin's ass, the other in his mouth, where Vin was nibbling and teasing a counterpoint that was driving him mad...

"Vin?" He paused, waiting for focus to come back into Vin's dazed eyes. *Are you ready?* he asked silently. Without releasing his fingers from those slightly swollen lips, Vin nodded emphatically. Almost reluctantly, Chris pulled both hands free, bringing them to rest at the back of Vin's corded thighs. Vin cooperated, lifting his hips, sliding a pillow underneath, and then relaxing as Chris pushed his legs up and back, opening him so wide and vulnerable that Chris never ceased to be amazed. All this love and trust and beauty was his. For good. Joy as intense as pain fisted in Chris's chest, and he froze there.

"Chris!" Somewhere between demanding and plaintive, Vin broke his momentary paralysis. Leaning forward, bracing one hand on Vin's thigh, guiding with the other, he positioned himself and pressed inward. He paused again, just inside, with Vin gripping him tightly. "Chris..." Vin hissed again, and he couldn't hold back anymore. He slid in quickly, drawing a grunt and a gasp from the man under him. Vin arched up, driving him deeper, and then his legs were shifting, wrapping around Chris, heels digging into his ass to draw him closer, deeper still.

And then he was bending over, bracing his arms by Vin's shoulders, rocking and shifting forward, then back on his knees, pulling Vin up with him, holding him close. Sweat-slick skin sliding, catching momentarily and sliding again. And then Vin's mouth was on his, teasing his lips open, inviting his own tongue to explore that hot, wet depth. Vin was clinging closer, rocking harder, driving himself down while Chris was supporting them both, his thighs and his arms both beginning to ache with the strain. And then Vin's mouth was sliding away, down to his chin, biting there and licking at the cleft, then nibbling up his jaw, leaving shivering little shocks of pain in his wake.

When Vin's teeth closed on his earlobe, sucking and swirling the lapis bead as Chris had done so recently, the echo of that sensation only adding, multiplying, sparking along his nerves, exploding in his groin. Chris cried out, wordless, and came hard. His body arched, pumping, pouring into Vin, rocking and shaking, until his strength was gone and they were falling. Vin landed on his back, and let out on "oof" without releasing his hold. While Chris was still thrusting in an uneven rhythm, Vin was writhing under him, driving himself onto Chris's cock, panting, gasping Chris's name on each breath.

Seconds stretched to breaking. Then, as Chris's throes were waning, Vin arched and stiffened, his breath catching, his cries fleetingly silenced. Chris hung there with him, suspended. He found the strength from somewhere to push up, to meet Vin's eyes in that endless moment, to share inspiration and commitment and rapture. And then, while he watched, the wave washed away thought, and Vin came with a harsh cry. His warm semen spurted between them as his body shook and shivered. Chris held him, raining kisses on his throat and chest, then swirling his tongue around the nipple ring, sending a shiver through them both.

Chris rested finally, easing the condom off, carelessly letting it fall over the edge of the bed. He dropped his head to rest on Vin's chest, absorbing the last shudders that rocked him, listening to his heartbeat and breathing slowly settle toward slumber. But not before a hand came up to card through Chris's sweaty hair, soothing and sexy at once, and in passing, to flick easily at his ear. Chris smiled, too relaxed to respond more, and drifted toward sleep.

The jarring trill of the cell phone jerked him awake. "Fuck," he muttered. Vin just laughed, so Chris made sure to elbow him firmly in the ribs on the way to fishing his phone from the charging station on the bedside table. He glanced down, and read a unfamiliar number on the backlit LCD display before thumbing the "talk" button. "Larabee," he barked.

Loud music and crowd sounds almost obscured the voice at the other end of the line. "Hey, pard." Buck. "Whatcha up to?" At ten at night, with Vin just back in town. What did he think they were up to? Pretty much exactly what they had been up to, but Buck just couldn't leave it alone. Chris took a deep breath, and let loose at full volume: "Wilmington, YOU'RE DEAD!!!" And then he flung the phone, and listened with satisfaction as it shattered into pieces, somewhere on the other side of the room.

Vin was still laughing, one arm across his eyes, the other holding his stomach.

"Don't you start with me, Tanner," he warned, eyeing a few of Vin's sensitive, ticklish spots.

"I'm not sure," he gasped for breath, "your cell phone insurance covers," another gasp, "temper tantrums," he teased, finally taking his hand away, revealing the tears running down his cheeks.

The man was fucking irresistible, and Chris wasn't in any mood to resist. So he pounced, drawing another "oof" as he pressed the air from Vin, pinning his hands to the pillow above his head, and then licking at the tear tracks. Maybe he'd discovered a new ticklish zone, because Vin was writhing and laughing harder, struggling to breathe. When he started to turn purple, Chris finally let up, relaxing next to him, with one leg draped across both of Vin's. He massaged Vin's diaphragm gently, until his breathing was steady, and then continuing until it dropped into the light smooth rhythm of sleep.

Breathing deeply himself, absorbing the scents of sweat and sex, and the musky aroma that uniquely Vin, Chris relaxed into sleep.

* * *

The next day was blessedly normal routine, chores and breakfast, showers and commuting, almost as if Vin had never been gone. But then Chris's hair caught in the new earring, tugging ever so slightly, and reminding him with stirring clarity of all that had passed between them last night. He smiled across at Vin, who was already smiling his way, and knew that they were on the same wavelength. Again. Always.

He avoided Buck, because he still hadn't figured out appropriate retaliation, but he couldn't keep it up when the time came for their weekly status meeting. Everyone gathered in the conference room, and Josiah had his head bent next to Vin's over some of the conference materials he'd brought back. Chris would bet money they were the rifle specs. JD bounced in and dropped into his usual chair, across from Chris, while Nathan and Buck came in with arms full of blueprints and computer printouts.

"Hey, Chris," JD bubbled. "Cool earring!"

It froze the room, as they all waited for him to explode. Chris just waited, eyeing JD until he dropped his eyes, then shooting a look at Buck to see if he'd prompted the kid. But Buck's smile, while amused, didn't have that crafty edge to it. It was probably all innocent. And maybe he could lay this to rest once and for all.

He shared a millisecond's glance with Vin, received a flick of the eyelid that he read as affirmation, then cracked as honest and wide smile as he had in the truck, spreading it around the whole team. "Why thanks, JD. I like it, too."


End file.
